Brooksie

More stand-up comedy!

2010-03-27T00:54:00.000+13:00

Don't Hassle Me, I'm Local

2009-09-19T09:59:00.009+12:00

In the spirit of Random Acts of Kindness Day (which was a couple of weeks ago - evidently it was Procrastinator's Day as well), I bring you this post!

I'm not sure what sort of criteria go into determining at what point you can truly call yourself a 'local', once you have moved to a new location.

Sure, I've lived in the greater Wellington region for just over three years now, so on the surface of it I'm sure that is more than adequate 'time served' in terms of determining where I call home. Certainly, I still haven't affected (and probably never will) a proper Kiwi accent, although I have picked up many of their turns of phrase. As you do.

I'm also bona fide in terms of my residency status here in New Zealand, being a de facto citizen until that can finally be made official in a couple of years.

But these seem to be merely crude, if not acceptable, measures of determining one's status in a place as a True Local. While I am not trying to be pretentious at all about this, as one might be while trying to claim status as a true resident of an exclusive neighbourhood (*cough* Beverly Hills *cough*), I feel a deep connection to Wellington somehow. Since moving here, then, I have gradually felt less and less like a tourist and more and more like a true Wellingtonian.

So what is it that I have found that makes me confident enough to say 'ich bin ein Wellingtonian'?

Why, it's having a flawless record at giving out directions!

What better way to establish yourself as a local and prove your know-how of the area than by pointing lost souls in the right direction? What better way of proving you belong here because you know the cool spots, and not all of them are on the beaten path?

Again, I am not trying to sound egotistical at all about this, although I suspect I am failing in that regard. But please don't mistake my enthusiasm and pride for Wellington as arrogance. It is love! I just love it here, and it's moments like these when it comes shining through.

I give you Incident One: Whilst strolling up Lambton Quay towards the city centre one evening, I was stopped by a man who bore a helpless look on his face.

"Excuse me, where is Cable Car lane?" he asked, in an accent that I am going to guess was... Eastern European. (I'm nothing if not perceptive, no?)

Well, this was an easy one for me, as we were not only 300 yards* away from his destination, but the Cable Car's trademark sign (with the red cable car on it) was within our line of sight.

So I happily pointed him in the right direction and, as soon as he noticed the sign, his eyes lit up and he thanked me.

I continued on my way, chuffed at being able to solve someone's little dilemma and also feeling for the first time like a local. I felt a little self-conscious while I was giving him directions, as whenever I speak it is immediately obvious I am not from around here due to my American accent.

But my successful direction-giving cancels out that one, I think!

Incident Two: Whilst walking up Featherston Street, again late one evening, a harried-looking man accosted me. He asked me, in an accent I am going to guess was Scandinavian (I'm a regular linguistics expert, I tell you), where he could find Hunter Street.

This was pure kismet! For not 24 hours ago, I had been on Google Maps perusing downtown Wellington for a particular address, when I noticed where Hunter Street was in the process.

And before we continue: Yes, I am aware that my admission to looking up directions may - at first glance - appear to weaken my case for being a local. Well, in response, I would say that even locals have to look up directions from time to time! And who can resist the uber-awesomeness that is anything Google? They are the kings of data, man, so get off my case and go use one of their apps, already. They're genius.

Back to our story. Hunter Street is a tricky one, for it is one of those streets that is initially called something else (Featherston, natch) which then takes a 90 degree turn and magically becomes another street - in this case, our Hunter Street! Had I not fortuitously looked at Google Maps the night before, this tourist would have stumped me with his directions request and my ambitions for True Local status would have suffered a serious setback.

But good luck was on my side and since there isn't really much to Hunter Street, and this guy was from out of town, I am guessing his destination was the large hotel located there.

Incident Three: While making my way across the scenic steps by Wellington Town Hall, a man with a distinctly Spanish accent (I am getting better) was looking repeatedly from his copy of Lonely Planet to the street sign at an intersection. His wife/girlfriend seemed to be in a frustrated mood and they had the look of haggard tourists who were having a hard time finding their way.

I cast a glance in their direction and smiled, and he jumped at this chance to ask somebody for directions.

"Excuse me, do you know the way to the iSite?" he said, holding his copy of the Lonely Planet guide as if he would like to tear it in half like that guy did that one time with a phone book.**

Again, this was a fastball down the middle of the plate for me and I, being a power hitter (baseball analogy), took this one out of the park.

We were within spitting distance of his destination, as the iSite is part of the Town Hall building complex. And although it was very close by, this wasn't quite as easy as it sounds as it wasn't within line of sight and also the path to its door was an unmarked, covered sidewalk that curved away out of view. So this explained his confusion as, from any street map, it looks like you should be able to see the iSite from the spot we were standing on - yet you could not.

Anyways, he seemed much relieved at my help and his girlfriend set a rapid pace that he shuffled to catch up with as they took off in the direction of the iSite. I can only think their day improved from there and once again I felt happy to help!

Incident Four: This one is the most recent, and it happened while I was walking back from training with W.I.T. As I traversed Wakefield Street, I came to the intersection with Tory Street and stopped to wait for the little green man to appear and grant me permission to cross. As I stood there, I started to notice out of the corner of my eye that somebody was staring in my direction.

I looked over, and this hulking dude was standing there with his girlfriend (who was SMOKING HOT, by the way). He glanced away when I looked over, then he looked back and asked if I could give him directions somewhere. His accent sounded Russian to me, although as I found out later he and his girl were from the Ukraine. (I was close on that one, at least!)

In this case they didn't have a specific destination in mind, but rather asked for a place to get a good steak.

Aha! So the difficulty level on this request was increased above and beyond that of simple directions to an easy landmark. Now came a true test of my local knowledge!

Once again, fate smiled upon me as not only did I have a good recommendation for him and his lovely partner, we were once again almost within line of sight of the place of interest.

We were just around the corner from the Hog's Breath Café, which I had initially heard about having the best steak in town from a fellow traveler, and then experienced firsthand.

As an aside here, my very first night in Wellington was three years ago when I was on a trip for my job interview. Once that was done I had decided to stay on for a couple of days to see the sights in town before heading back down south to Ashburton, where I lived at the time.

While I was on line at Reading Cinemas at Courtenay (can't remember what movie I saw), I was reading my copy of one of Bill Bryson's books. It was a long line and, as I was by myself, this was a great way to pass the time. (And I was doing two Single Guy Dating Himself things at once, something that will be mentioned at greater length in a future post when the Guide is published).

The guy standing in front of me in line noticed what I was reading and introduced himself. Turns out he was another American and he hailed from Iowa - Bill Bryson's home state! He was familiar with all of Bill's books and he even made a wry joke about having come from Des Moines as well, and said that Bryson is what they were best known for to the rest of the world. (I have to admit, Bryson was the very first thing I ever came to associate with that city!)

Anyways, he said that he came through Wellington frequently on business, though for the life of me I can't remember his name or what line of work he was in. I remember being a little envious of him at the time, for I didn't know the status of my job interview yet (this, of course, had a happy ending!) and, not having spent 24 hours in Wellington yet, I was already in love with this city.

Before we parted ways (his ticket was for a different film), he made it a point to tell me where the best place to find a steak in town was: the Hog's Breath Café - which was right next to the movie theatre, as luck would have it!

And when a Midwesterner gives you advice on where to find a good steak, YOU TAKE IT!

This I then did, although not on that night - and it really is great steak there. So I was confident in the recommendation I gave this bloke from the Ukraine. I lost a few points for having taken them the long way around, but then again maybe the scenic route is a little bit more fun. In chatting with him, he said he and his girlfriend came down to New Zealand frequently from the Ukraine as they loved it here, but they had never yet spent any time in Wellington. Turns out they were right off the plane almost, having just freshened up in their hotel before running into me. When I asked him about what line of work he was in, he became suddenly inscrutable, mumbling something about the shipping business and giving me a sideways glance.

I (wisely) let it go at that and found something else to talk about until we got to the stairwell leading up to the Hog's Breath.

So I wonder if any of these tourists were confused by the smiley local with the American accent who seemed to know his way around Wellington? Did they feel like they had just encountered another tourist who maybe had done his homework a little better than they had? Or perhaps he had better maps? Or a superior travel agent?

Well, it was 'None of the above'! For they had just encountered Brooksie: mild-mannered vet by day, master of directions and timing by night.

Oh good lord, I didn't just type that, did I? Is this to be my lame superpower? Expert directions-giver and steak-recommender?

Well, I call it a case of being in the right place, at the right time. I really enjoy being able to help people, and not just on Random Act of Kindness Day either!

And tomorrow be a fine day as well, me buckos! For then, it'll be International Talk Like A Pirate Day!
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* Metres? I dunno...
** True story.

Obligatory Mid-Life Crisis Cliché

2009-09-13T21:26:00.001+12:00

"Oh my god! I have to get to a cave RIGHT NOW!"

2009-07-20T23:51:00.006+12:00

Please watch the short snippet above from that excellent film, Better Off Dead, and then I'll take it from there.

Why is this quote relevant? Why is Lane's freak-out involving his upcoming race with Stalin the headline of this post?

Because I'm freakin' out man!

No, I'm not racing Stalin tomorrow. I don't even have a pair of skis. And while there are no shortage of caves in New Zealand, I am not so desperate as to be searching for one to hermit myself away in. Yet.

But watch this space. Why? Because tonight, after going out on the town to support some friends doing stand-up comedy (and good shows tonight Woody, Robbie and Nat), I somehow managed to volunteer myself to do a set in an upcoming "Raw Meat Monday". And I hadn't even been drinking!

Oh sure, I've toyed with the idea of trying my hand at a bit of stand-up comedy one day. One day. You know, far off in the future. Preferably via telecast from beyond the grave, so if I bomb I'll be dead and won't really care. But even then...

Seriously! Do you want your first act in the afterlife to be a case of serious flop sweat? I don't know where I'm going after this world, but I'm sure there will be crickets! And they can chirp just as loudly as here!

Ah, what am I saying. Probably everybody who's done stand-up before had felt this way right after agreeing or deciding to try it. It's only natural to feel this anxiety. I admit, there is a bit of a rush in there. Somewhere in there, mixed in with the stark terror.

But the crowds here in Wellington are very supportive and this particular scenario, the Raw Meat Monday format, as off-putting as it sounds is really the perfect time and place for anyone who has ever wanted to try stand-up to finally get off their duff and do it.

Yes, when you've finally completely lost your mind, and decided you'd like to single-handedly entertain a room fool of strangers with your own personal brand of comedy, well then Raw Meat Mondays is the place for you!

No really I am looking forward to this. I was going to get up there and try it once for sure, I just wasn't sure when. So when Derek fixed me with his imploring gaze this evening after the show and kept repeating, "So can I pencil you in for the 31st?", I just couldn't say no. Well, I did say no. Like five times at least. But I finally caved.

Haha, 'cave', get it? No?

Uh-oh.

Anyways, I'm glad I did! I guess I'm enough of a stage hog that the concept of improvised comedy wasn't enough so I decided to get all greedy and book myself for some stand-up comedy as well. Lots of friends of mine in W.I.T. perform stand-up so I'll be turning to them for advice and asking them to come support me.

But I'll be asking them to leave any and all recording devices at home.

See you on the night of Monday, August 31st Wellington!

All Moggies Great and Small

2009-07-14T09:55:00.001+12:00

While I sit here and recover from the swine flu, I finally have no excuse to keep procrastinating regarding my blog. In the three months since I last wrote, I've been busy doing stuff, mainly things with W.I.T. I am happy to say. The most exciting thing there is our second annual New Zealand Improvisation Festival, which this year is taking place in early October. We'll host the Con Artists from Auckland, the Court Jesters from Christchurch, our neighbours The Improvisors from right here in Wellington, and - making this an international affair for the first time - some crew from Impro Melbourne. This will include a workshop run by Patti Stiles, the Artistic Director for Impro Melbourne.

What should coincide with the Festival is the unveiling of our new website, which is currently being overhauled. This is a project being spearheaded by our new Secretary, Jen Mason, and from what she's told us, our new presence on the web sounds like it will be really exciting.

There is also a good chance I'll be performing in my first W.I.T. show either next month or in September, so I'm looking forward to that. We are having two months of Micetro-style shows, an improvised comedy format that is friendly to beginners like me. I'm also working on developing a format of my own, and hope to finish the details soon and take it to Tuesday Training one week and foist it upon my unsuspecting impro comrades!

What I've been wanting to post about lately, though, isn't impro-related. It's more in the vein of a James Herriot-style story - or rather, stories - that have been happening here in Aotearoa these past few months. Periodically I like to try my hand at writing about cats or dogs I've seen in the past and the amazing things that they get up to, just as our dear departed Mr. Herriot once did. However, these four stories all wrote themselves and don't require any sort of re-telling from me.

OK they were written by professional journalists and I can't tell them better than they've already been told, so I'll just point you in the direction of the stories. They all involve cats in New Zealand and these stories actually got on or near the front page of the newspaper on the day they were published. I found it heartening and amusing to read about New Zealanders' pet moggies on the front page instead of the usual doom and gloom that greets me there.

I'll post a link to the story, then offer my own comments after that link (assuming you'll want to folow the link - go on, the stories are quite short!). Please feel free to chime in by commenting on this post, and at the very least I hope these stories make you laugh as much as I did. The last one is kinda creepy, but in a very cool way, and is funny in its own right as well.

1. Owner struggles to solve Rubiks' cruise

This is one of those stories that makes you laugh and also makes you cringe. He's certainly an intrepid little cat, this Rubiks, and he's getting the utmost out of his outdoor existence. Yet you do worry about a cat that likes to wander so much, especially as the traffic in the areas he's chosen to visit can literally be murder for a cat.

But what really floored me is that this cat made it all the way to the Hutt Valley! Between Mt. Cook in Wellington (lower left on the map), where he began his sojourn, to the Hutt Valley (upper right of the map) where he was found is basically all motorway. Check it out:

View Larger Map

There's hardly any room at all for a little cat there, and certainly very off-putting to any would-be travelers who'd dare come this way. Between the high-speed motorway and the waters of the harbour (which splash very close to the road) is a railway, so it's a very daunting prospect indeed. My guess is he made his travels well after midnight, when the trains weren't running and the traffic was next to nil. Cats are nocturnal anyways, so this fits his modus operandi quite well.

Unfortunately, I wasn't called in on the case to question Rubiks, so we may never know the hows and whys of his errant ways. At least, for now, he's back patrolling his home territory, although I'd be a fool if I thought this most recent trip of his was his final one, if not his greatest. It has been over three months since the story broke, so in all likelihood he's wandered off somewhere again!

2. Would-be stowaway saved by a whisker

This story about Dr. Chicken the cat (can Kiwis come up with great cat names or what!) is another heartwarming one. This kitty definitely dodged a bullet, and while I've heard of animals surviving very long periods of time without food and water, I'm not so sure Dr. Chicken would have survived 8 days in a shipping container. Unless, like Tom Hanks' blind luck in the movie Castaway, Dr. Chicken happened to be fortuitously stowed away in a shipping container filled with cat food, a leaky water bottle, and a volleyball (everybody needs a Wilson), she was going to probably have spent all 9 of her lives right there.

But I really like how the shipping container company was sincerely and immediately helpful, especially given how daunting the task was of finding which container was the right one!

3. Sinbad: a mog with catitude

This one made me laugh the most. I know the poor fella has had more than his fair share of travesty (watch the interview if you want to hear more on this), but it's just the descriptions of his antics that got me laughing. Picturing this fat, tailless cat 'scrabbling' around in the toilet bowl he'd just splashed into is a mirthful image I can't let go of. Or Sinbad having 'burnt lips' after sucking (!) on the end of a weedkiller bottle. I thought only dogs did that kind of thing! Also, in typical understated Kiwi fashion, his owner describing him as being 'a bit wobbly' made me laugh as well.

What got me most, however, was how he managed to topple his letterbox from perching his huge arse upon it every day. How sad that he can't do his daily greeting ritual anymore, though! After all he's been through, he's a real Lazarus all right, and I just hope Sinbad keeps ticking along for many more years yet.

4. Ghost cat couple cop flak

I always enjoy a good ghost story, but particularly so when it involves the ghost of a cat! Definitely watch the attached video with this story, it's really pretty spooky. It's funny how this little 'ghost' is sort of behaving like a cat, isn't it? Sure it's moving a bit fast, but then again he's a ghost now, so he's got supernatural speed. I like how there is no reflection in the puddle, then right on cue here comes a real flesh and blood orange cat later on, who walks by the same puddle and casts a reflection. A nice bit of 'proof' in the same few moments of video footage, if you will, that the initial orange blur is something not-of-this-world.

Hopefully there will be a follow-up story, not only after the experts have reviewed the tape to say that it's not been doctored, but also perhaps they will catch this little blighter on video again! Who knows? Maybe in the next one, he'll be trotting after that lazy orange cat that appears in this video, trying to get him to play.

Well, that's all for this installment of "News For Cats". Trust me, if any dogs had made it into the news (or horses, wombats, etc.) I'd have mentioned them as well. This is, after all, an equal opportunity blog when it comes to our animal friends!

We will remember them.

2009-04-25T09:07:00.003+12:00

Today in New Zealand it is ANZAC Day, a national holiday. It is a day of remembrance for all those who have fought for the country, those who serve to protect it now and most especially those who went to fight for New Zealand and never returned.

Although I have been here for two previous ANZAC Days, today was the first day I went to a dawn service. These happen all across the country, rain or shine. I turned up a little late (6:00 AM, the ceremony had begun at 5:45) but as the parade had gathered outside the Upper Hutt City Council building it was easy to filter into the crowd assembled on the street.

As it was still pre-dawn, the skies were dark but the street was well-lit and I could see that at least hundreds of people were present, if not a thousand or more. There were some lovely speeches from a local priest, the president of the RSA (Returned and Services' Association) and the chief of staff of Joint Forces New Zealand.

There was then a laying of wreaths accompanied by a somber number played on the bagpipes, followed by one minute's silence. Then came Reveille, which is listed in the program as "The sounding of Reveille proclaims our belief that the landing at ANZAC heralded the dawn of a brilliant era in the march to Nationhood of Australia and New Zealand."

This references the Gallipoli campaign during World War I when the ANZAC company was directed to the wrong part of the shore to stage an assault that was designed to force the Turks to surrender. It was an ill-fated campaign and I refer you again to this page for a far better synopsis of its significance than I can provide.

The parade then closed with a singing of the New Zealand national anthem and by now the sun had started to rise and cast its light over the cold Hutt Valley. Having never been to a dawn service before, I wasn't sure what to wear so I figured it'd be better to be over-dressed rather than under-dressed. My coat and tie proved to be a bit too formal as most people were dressed nicely but not to such a degree, so next year I will be a bit more relaxed in that department.

In a way, I did come under-dressed after all, as the poppy I had received for making a donation to the RSA yesterday was still pinned to my smock at work. Most everyone around me had their poppies on display, but that being said I wasn't made to feel embarassed in the slightest. The New Zealanders present were, as ever, polite, introspective and friendly. I'm sure none of them noticed I wasn't wearing a poppy anyways - it just wouldn't bother them!

I know I wasn't the only American in New Zealand turning out for ANZAC Day, either, as there were some U. S. Marines from the embassy's guard detachment handing out poppies at the railway station downtown. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton also issued a statement of commemoration for ANZAC Day from Washington, DC.

I'd love to get to the dawn service next year at the War Memorial in downtown Wellington, which I have visited in the past, but not on ANZAC Day.

The last Monday in May is, of course, Memorial Day back in the States. It looks like, from past news items on its site, that there will be a service for this at the U. S. Embassy or somewhere nearby in Wellington. I'll be sure to get to this if I can this year, too, work schedule permitting.

As for the rest of my day, I'll be repairing to Westpac Stadium later this evening with a friend to cheer on the Wellington Hurricanes in their match against the Brumbies from Canberra, Australia. I look forward to it, as always, but it will be a little more special today given the intertwined history of these two great countries that has been illustrated today.

Somebody stop that cat!

2009-04-06T21:59:00.000+12:00

So there I was, sitting on a bench by the side of the road, waiting for the mechanics' shop to open. The car was due in for its Warrant of Fitness, and as I was a bit early for dropping off the cah at the yahd, I had no choice but to take a seat outside.

It was a fine morning out, so I didn't mind one bit. Where I work is quite literally right around the corner from the mechanics' place. Sunlight beamed down all around me, bathing me in warm morning light. A few cars passed by, filled with people on their way to the workplace. Birds were chirping and flitting about. A small grey and white cat darted out into the street. A few people made their way --

Hold the phone: what was that?! I held my breath for a moment, frozen by the sight of this cat running carelessly into the road as a car began to approach from around the corner. The little fella didn't seem to have his street smarts yet, as not only did he time his jaunt across the open road poorly, but right as he reached the middle he allowed himself to be momentarily distracted by a bird flying the other way across the street.

He tracked it flawlessly with his gaze as he ran the other way, blindly into the lane where there was an oncoming car. I was about to leap to my feet to warn the driver, but they must've already seen this little air-headed kitty as they had already begun to slow down.

As the cat disappeared behind a wooden partition, now safely on the other side of the road, I felt a wave of relief pass over me. I also realized why perhaps he was so determined to cross the road: I think on the other side of the partition lies a series of dumpsters, used by the large shopping mall there. He had probably penciled in a little dumpster diving to get his morning going right.

So imagine my surprise when, later on that same day, I am in an exam room and I go to open the cardboard carrier that contained these young owners' newest cat - and out jumped my little jaywalking friend! Yes, it was the same little grey and white cat I had seen just a few hours previous as he made his way towards the seedy Dumpster District.

I laughed and told the owners the story of how I had just seen him that morning, right around the corner. The couple seemed surprised he had wandered so far, but they had also just moved into a new flat so perhaps he was still figuring out the boundaries of his home turf. I pointed out that dumpsters were hard for cats to resist, and as this little guy had yet to be neutered, perhaps he'd settle down once that had been, ahem, arranged.

Remembering this young couple from a few months back, I asked about their other cat and how he and the new guy (named "Casper", as I came to find out) were getting along. Sadly, their last cat had been hit by a car - something that very possibly could've happened to Casper that very morning!

But, he was scheduled for the chop soon, so hopefully he'd learn to be more careful and we wouldn't have any more sad stories for these owners.

Fast forward to a few days later, and after work I hit the supermarket to load up on groceries. As I often do, on the way home I decided to stop in at the BP for petrol. As I pull up next to the nearest open pump, I see Casper's male owner standing there. He works at BP, you see, so I often see him whenever I get petrol.

As I got out of the car, I struggled to remember the little grey and white cat's name, but was keen to ask this guy how things were going nonetheless.

"My cat ran away!"

"WHAT??" I said, exasperated.

"Yeah, that night, after we saw you. We let him outside after his dinner and we haven't seen him since."

"Oh no. I am sorry to hear that," I said, remembering how he had just lost his previous cat not a few months ago, and now it was maybe happening again. I also felt absurdly guilty that the cat decided to do a runner the very night after I stuck him with a needle. Perhaps, with some sort of crooked feline logic, he had decided that humans who took him to other humans to be stabbed with needles were not to be trusted.

I asked him if he had seen any sign of him at all, or if they had put up signs. He said they had put up posters and ads in all shelters and vet clinics, but he had not yet put an ad on Pets on the Net, which I strongly suggested he do. He also theorized that the cat had probably been picked up and kept by another owner, something he said happens a lot in Upper Hutt. I found this moderately disturbing and said as much.

Well after talking to Casper's owner, I began to feel rather helpless about his situation. As I got back into my car, though, inspiration struck. I decided to drive around, looking for Casper, the melting ice cream from the supermarket be damned.

After all, I had pretty good intelligence as to just where this little blighter might have run off to. The very spot where I had seen Casper run across the road a few days earlier was just a few hundred metres from this BP station. So I turned onto that street, slowed down and began to scan both sides of the street intently.

The white wooden partition behind which the dumpsters lay came and went with no sight of Casper. I kept creeping along the road, looking everywhere, but didn't see any grey and white flashes anywhere.

I did notice, however, that a guy who had been walking up the sidewalk towards me the entire time was looking at me oddly. He was a pretty big guy, wearing a black singlet and also a Yankees cap (something I'm not used to seeing round these parts). He probably wondered what in the world I was doing, driving so slowly and looking about in a crazy manner.

But then I saw Casper! There he was, just off to the left of the shopping mall carpark. I had little time to act so, forgetting about the suspicious pedestrian, I flicked on the hazards, pulled over to the kerb and hopped out.

The guy in the Yankee hat was definitely aloof now and I'm sure he saw that my car was filled with grocery bags. I didn't improve his opinions of my motives, I am sure, when I then knelt down on the sidewalk and began to make chattering noises and calling to Casper in that weird, high-pitched voice you reserve for use when trying to entice pets to approach you. You see the thing is, the guy never saw the cat, nor could he have seen him now as I called to it because it was hidden from view around the corner of the carpark!

Well the guy kept walking on but Casper was frozen in place. He regarded me warily with conflicted emotions. Here was this stranger, talking nicely to him and wanting to pat him, yet this human was suddenly not so strange after all... He looked oddly familiar...

Oh no! It's the guy who jabbed you with that needle the other day! RUN FOR IT!

And so he ran, the moment I encroached upon Casper's 'flight zone'. He took off a good thirty metres down the sidewalk before stopping to turn and look at me again.

Not wanting to completely throw in the towel on this attempted rescue - how cool would it have been to rock in to the BP, not five minutes after I had left, and be able to tell Casper's owner I had not only found his cat but that he was waiting in my car!

Remembering my groceries, I had luckily that night decided to splurge and buy the cats some treats so I ran back to the car and fished them out. I could always buy more, and anyways my cats could certainly stand to miss a meal or two.*

Shaking the bag and strolling confidently back towards Casper, I knew there was no way any cat could resist the sound of treats rattling around!

Well, this cat could. Casper wasn't having a bar of it. I'm not sure if it was a sign of him finally getting some street smarts (Don't take candy from strangers!) or his emerging memory that, in addition to jabbing him, I had also shoved a worm tablet down his throat.

He kept his distance, so I decided to pour out a big pile of Cravers right there on the sidewalk. I figured if I couldn't win the battle, I'd try and win a war of attrition. Give him some treats today, I reasoned, and maybe when I returned the next day with some more treats, he'd be more trusting and then I could snatch him up.

As I negotiated the roundabout to return to the BP station and let the guy know his cat was alive and well, I noticed that Casper was gorging heartily on the treats.

I also noticed, as I crossed over the speed bumps leading back to the BP (Driving slowly again! And still with lots of groceries in the back seat!) that I was now passing the very same guy in the Yankees hat on the sidewalk again.

I did my best to stare straight ahead but out of the corner of my eye I noticed him turn his head towards me sharply as I drove past. He must have been thinking, "What the hell...?"

Well I let Casper's owner know about his status and he did seem a bit relieved to hear he was doing OK. He thought it was a bit cheeky Casper kept hanging around the same place I had seen him, and truth be told it was only a couple of streets away from where the guy now lived. So I told him this was likely becoming part of Casper's home turf, even though it wasn't very comforting as it is a very trafficky area.

A couple of weeks later at work, I was heartened to see that Casper's name was on the surgery list for that morning. He was due to be neutered and have his final vaccine booster, so I knew he must have come home at last. Turns out the guy didn't have to go out and round him up from the dumpster area, Casper just came home on his own a day or so after I had seen him.

I was the one who ended up performing Casper's surgery, and if he had any hard feelings about his last experience with me, he didn't seem to let on. In fact, he seemed non-plussed in general, so he probably forgot the pile of Cravers I fed him, too, the little ingrate!

Nah, I could never be mad at Casper. After all, it's not hard to imagine why cats do love to dumpster dive so - especially when said dumpsters are used daily by the likes of Subway and KFC. Being an American, I am no stranger to the appeal of greasy take-away food! Just not the 'in-a-dumpster' kind of take-aways.

Well, except for that one night in college, when we were all really bored. And drunk. And hungry. And we lived right next door to a Dunkin' Donuts...

I better quit now, lest this posting degenerate into something disgusting! Yeah, it's probably too late for that, but I am glad that Casper's life on the streets hasn't lead to him being just another statistic.

Stay cool, kitty.
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* Having fat pets is something we vets are loath to admit, but I tell you here freely, in the interests of full disclosure.

Over The Hills and Far Away

2009-04-05T20:34:00.018+12:00

There aren't many things that could make me skip a night of training with WIT on Tuesdays, but the chance to see Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie perform as "Flight of the Conchords" sure is one of them.

A friend I work with, Andrew, lives in Greytown, which is over the Rimutaka Hills and in the Wairarapa Valley. Jemaine grew up in the Wairarapa, in a town called Masterton which is just a little further north of Greytown. This bit of backstory is important as the Conchords had been taking a few weeks off here in New Zealand before embarking on their two-month tour of North America.

During their visit, it came to light that Jemaine's childhood school in Masterton, one Makoura College, was having some dire funding difficulties. Rumours persisted that it might even be forced to close unless they had a quick infusion of cash, and upon hearing this the Conchords offered up their services free for a charity concert. Of course, Makoura College took them up on their generous offer, and as a result a lucky few of us got to see them live.

Lucky in that, as far as I know, Bret and Jemaine hadn't scheduled to otherwise perform while they were here in New Zealand for these few weeks. And further fortunate in that tickets for this gig would first go on sale to residents of the Wairarapa Valley - which is where Andrew lives. My stalwart friend stood in line for a couple of hours. He noticed with increasing alarm that up to 10 tickets could be bought by one person. The closer he got to the head of the line, the smaller and smaller the roll of tickets for sale became. He worried they'd sell out just as he got to the front, as some people had been camping out from the night before, waiting for the tickets to go on sale.

But of course he came through, and in only a short while, all of the available tickets had been sold in Masterton, never giving anyone a chance outside the Wairarapa to buy a ticket. There was even an American from Florida who was desperate to purchase a ticket to see this show! Either he can't make the dates they are playing in Florida or he's almost as obsessed with the Conchords as Mel is.

The show was really great, it was everything I could have hoped it would be. Jemaine and Bret were just as they seem on television: witty, low-key and quite talented. A cellist friend of theirs named Nigel joined them on the stage for most of their songs, and the folk comedy duo (trio?) had a great rapport with the audience throughout the night.

Bret was particularly appreciative of a guy down towards the front who had impeccable timing with the things he shouted out. At one point, Bret was thinking aloud about how he wasn't sure if they could pull off their next tune, as they had yet to play it live. This guy then shouted out the stock Rob Schneider quote, "You can do it!" and got a big laugh. He also won over Bret, who for the second time complimented him on his timing (earlier he had shouted out a song request at just the right moment), and Bret said he wished he could take the guy on tour with them to keep shouting out that phrase.

While I wasn't the one who splashed out $6,000 in the charity auction for the guitar that had been autographed by the boys, I did my part for the school benefit by buying a T-shirt (in the picture below and, yes, I know I need to iron it). It was a real treat to be able to see these guys live and I'm not sure when I may have the chance to do so again. I liked how I also got to see them playing right in their backyard. They joked during the "Humans Are Dead" song that, in the distant future (the year 2000, as they wrote this song a long time ago, haha), Masterton had now become known as MasterTRON.

Yeah, okay, well you had to be there I guess!

This weekend I also bade farewell to my friend Emily, who leaves this Friday for her new life in Queenstown. She managed to work a transfer within her own company (she is an engineer) to arguably one of the loveliest spots to be in New Zealand. Given that there are heaps of nice places in this country, that is saying a lot.

Her party had a jungle theme and I've included a picture of me in my "Dr. Livingstone" get-up below. Emily is on the far left, and between us are her friends Millie and Brett. I should point out he came as Slash from Guns 'N Roses as their song, "Welcome To The Jungle" qualifies his costume as in-theme! That and he managed to find a cool inflatable guitar on TradeMe for $3.50.

Hmm, an inflatable guitar. It gives new meaning to the phrase 'air guitar'!

Ugh, even I have to admit that one was bad. This is why I won't be doing the stand-up comedy like so many of my friends are now!

And on that off-key note, I am outta here. Best of luck on the North American tour, Jemaine and Bret, and godspeed to you in Queenstown, Emily!

A hobbit, an actor, and a vixen all walk into a bar ...

2009-03-31T14:05:00.016+13:00

Well I can just get this post in under the wire, and bookend the month of March nicely with a post on its first and last days. This wasn't intentional, mind you, as I've been wanting to post about many of the things I've got up to in these past few weeks. But, as with my growing stack of unread books (many of them borrowed from friends), so too has my progressively longer list of blog drafts (all original, none borrowed from friends) been ignored recently.

So in rapid-fire procession, I'll rattle off a list of things I've found interesting or done that are newsworthy (heh) over the last few weeks, before getting down to the main topic of this post.

Guillermo del Toro, director for the two upcoming Hobbit films, arrived in town just over a week ago. He was spotted in a local bookstore, buying up graphic novels, which are one of his passions. According to the article, Mr. del Toro has two homes in the Los Angeles area: one for living in, the other for storing his massive collection of graphic novels and other books. Suddenly, I don't feel so bad about my stacks of books which currently invade just the odd bit of free tabletop space in the flat! But I'll bet Guillermo is better about actually reading his books than I am, and he's got two whole movies to direct ...

Needless to say, I am excited about the prospect of experiencing life in New Zealand whilst they shoot the next two Middle Earth movies here. There's always the chance for a celebrity sighting anywhere in the Wellywood region. Odds-on favourite sites are: Molly Malone's, The Green Parrot Cafe and especially the Dom Post Ferry between downtown and Eastbourne, should Sir Ian McKellen decide to live out there again. But if/when I see any famous elves, hobbits, wizards, gollums or otherwise, I'll not gush and fawn all over them like some sort of tourist! I will, however, do my level best to get out to some of the shooting locations to see some of the sets - especially The Shire, once it's rebuilt.

Speaking of celebrities, a personal favourite of mine is the British actor Peter Davison. He'll be a guest of honour at this weekend's Armageddon Expo, which takes place here in Wellington after being in Christchurch last week. He earned his SciFi 'street cred' by playing one of many incarnations of "The Doctor" on the original series run of BBC's Doctor Who. I knew him best as "Tristan Farnon" on the All Creatures Great and Small series, also from the BBC. I love SciFi cons and haven't been to one in a while, so if I can con (get it?) any of my geeky friends to go with me, it'd be fun to see Mr. Davison in person as well as see what else emerges from the woodwork.

In other news, I am now officially a WIT member and, although I haven't had my official stage debut in any shows yet, I am happy to finally be able to partake in Tuesday Training and continue to learn all I can about this most enthralling way to entertain and be entertained. I have also been elected to the post of Treasurer for WIT, in which my first official act was to declare myself ineligible to be Treasurer! It's a long story, but once elected into the post I soon realized, in going over WIT's bank records and membership rosters, that I had never in fact been voted in to the club nor paid any membership fee. I blew the whistle on myself, was then briefly stood down, hastily granted membership by the committee, seconded into the role of Acting Treasurer, and finally then as an official WITster I was re-voted into the position of Treasurer in a second general meeting!

Yeah, I know, I'm sure Hollywood is all over that story for the official screenplay rights (I'd like to request that Ethan Hawke play my role). But that experience, combined with my 'unofficial' and truly impromptu stage debut with WIT in last year's New Zealand Improvisation Festival, has made for a very interesting start for my life in WIT!

What I wanted to write about most, though, was the opera I saw last Friday night. It's called The Cunning Little Vixen, written by Leoš Janácek. A friend of mine from WIT, Robbie, did the lighting design for this production so that's how I heard about this opera. The other two operas I've seen here in Wellington were both at the St. James Theatre so of course I was surprised to find out there was another opera company in town, known as Nimby. The theatre they use for performances is a building called the Salvation Army Citadel, which sounds like some sort of place where they, well... not fight to the death, as it's the Salvation Army! Perhaps it's a place where they give until it hurts?

Anyways, it's a building I've driven by dozens of times - even parked outside it once or twice, but I've always failed to take a good look at it. It turned out to be a wonderful venue for this opera, as the acoustics were great where I was sitting, which was the back row of the balcony section. There was a nice little stage and there was a 5-piece chamber orchestra playing for this production of Vixen. I'm not sure if that's a function of the piece itself or is a reflection of the fact that this is a smaller, up-and-coming operatic company that is working out of a littler theatre.

The cast were all brilliant, especially the female lead, one Kate Lineham. She channelled the spirit of the title role expertly, and it didn't hurt that the cast's costumes were really bright and original. There was some animated art that was woven in seamlessly with the production and it served to really enchant the place and enhance the experience of this opera. I also thought the supporting women in the cast were particularly strong, and their positive energy and quirky characterisations meant they stole lots of scenes.

I had never taken in an opera prior to moving to Wellington, largely because it was something that never interested me. But after seeing Turandot, my first opera, I became instantly hooked, as did my friend Karen who attended with me, also at her first opera. Now that I have experienced one of Nimby's productions as well, I know that we in Wellington are spoilt for choice when it comes to great opera, and I'll certainly be in the audience again!

Arthur, King of the Sauna

2009-03-01T19:57:00.001+13:00

"G'day!" the cheery old man called out as he joined me in the sauna, now doubling its current population.

"How are ya?" I replied, American aphorisms still being the default greeting responses hard-wired into my brain. Maybe after a few more years of Kiwi seasoning, I'll begin to reply with my own "G'day!" in kind.

I had been in the sauna for only two minutes but it felt more like twenty as I'd only recently begun doing the sauna with any regularity.

I've found that one way to keep your mind off of the fact that you are sitting in a boiling-hot room, slowly melting to become one with the humidity, is to strike up a conversation with the other masochistic denizens of the sauna (if there are any). The subject of said conversation is immaterial, as no matter how banal it is, its sole purpose is to try and get you to last as long as possible while your brain keeps firing increasingly shrill messages at you.

These messages start out as, "Boy, it's awfully muggy in here," from when you first cross the threshold into the boggy environs.

They then progress to, "OK I know the Wikipedia entry on saunas talked about how beneficial they were for your health, but you're now in serious danger of passing out. You can't even take a deep breath!"

Next comes, "You idiot! Unless you have an intravenous catheter and a bag of crystalloids handy, you are not lasting one more minute in this place! Initiating blackout mode."

Finally, it's just a never-ending repetition of the phrase, "Get out!" which increases in both volume and frequency with every second you remain inside that hot wooden box.

But, boy, what a great feeling you have when you do emerge! My personal best in a sauna is twenty minutes, but this pales in comparison to the times I have seen some people spend in there. They must have an iguana somewhere in their family tree in order to have survived in there for as long as they did.

Or maybe they've just mastered the art of small talk, which brings me back to my original point (/tangent).

This gentleman and I turned to that infallible staple of small talk, The Weather. He brought it up, but after a moment he became self-aware and started questioning the point of ever discussing the weather.

"I mean, unless you're a farmer or a fisherman, why should it matter to you? It won't change anything for you and there's nothing you can do about it anyway!" he said.

Seeing the wisdom in this, I had to agree.

Interrupting our discourse on the unpredictability of Wellington's weather were two older women who threw open the door to the sauna and, in quite a demanding fashion, gestured for the old man to quit the sauna.

"Come on, get out of there!" they each said to the man, more or less in unison.

I made a half-step to go as well, they had such a commanding air. I figured they might not want any men in the sauna with them, but then I remembered it was a 'co-ed' sauna after all. I then saw that they were just having him on a bit.

Well, sort of. Turns out this gentleman (whose name is Arthur, as I came to find out) had not five months ago survived a life-threatening bout of heart failure. He was telling me about how great the health care workers were at the Wellington and Hutt Hospitals. His condition had deteriorated to the point where his doctor called his family to the hospital ASAP as Arthur had taken a sudden turn for the worse and didn't seem to have very long at all.

His one son, now living in Australia, had already come home to be by his side during his time in hospital, but his daughter lived in Scotland and was still in the process of getting underway. So, the family reasoned, at least she'd be here for Arthur's funeral if she couldn't be there to see him before he passed.

Apparently the doctor tried one last desperate treatment, not expecting it to work. Very clearly it did, or I would not have had the chance to meet Arthur that morning in the sauna.

This recent experience of Arthur cheating death is also why his two friends came and tried to roust him out of the sauna. Apparently it has long been one of his favourite things to do but, since his bout of heart failure, he has lower blood pressure than normal. So sitting for any length of time in a sauna, which dilates all of the blood vessels in your skin thus lowering your blood pressure, is a potential recipe for disaster for Arthur.

But it was I who eventually rousted us out of the sauna. The women gave up and Arthur continued to spin his tale, seeming quite content to stay in the sauna indefinitely. For a moment I half expected his two vigilant friends to return and haul him out of there bodily, but they were nowhere to be seen now.

I was rapidly approaching my limit of sauna tolerance. Secretly, I yearned for the elderly women to return and redouble their efforts to extract Arthur from the sauna.

"...getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutGETOUT...." my brain was now yammering at me.

I'm pretty sure my body took over at this point, as I suddenly found myself bolting upright and lurching for the door. Yes, an elderly man who has a heart condition and had recently cheated death outlasted me in the sauna!

Graciously, Arthur could see that I had had enough (of the sauna, not his story) and he came through with me. We stood and chatted for a few more moments. He said he felt bad for his daughter, who eventually got here but not until a couple of days after Arthur had turned the corner and been transferred back to Hutt Hospital. The reason Arthur felt bad, he says, was that when his daughter left she was told he was not going to be alive when she got to New Zealand. Yet there he was, grinning up at her from his hospital bed. So he told her he was sorry to disappoint her that there would be no funeral!

I had to laugh as I really enjoy the Kiwi senses of humility and self-deprecation. I told him I was sure his daughter saw it differently and that he looked great, which he truly did.

Anyways I'm sure I'll be seeing Arthur again, now that I'm swimming regularly and following that up with a brief session in the sauna. We'll see if I can outlast him in there next time, though, as it was I who was in danger of low blood pressure on that day and not him!

I must practice my small talk skills about the weather, that is the secret.

So, a bit muggy out today, wasn't it?

I'm in love... with a city

2009-02-26T17:09:00.022+13:00

Lloyd Dobler: "I got a question. If you guys know so much about women, then how come you're here at, like, a Gas 'n Sip on a Saturday night, completely alone, drinking beers, with no women anywhere?"

(A long pause.)

Joe: "By choice, man!"

Denny: "That's right, man, it's a conscious choice!"

Mark: "Yeah, we're choosin' it!"

So went the replies of his mates to the inimitable Lloyd Dobler's probing question in the movie Say Anything.*

You (or Lloyd) might ask me something similar, such as, "If you like New Zealand so much and came over here partly for all the tramping, then why is it you're spending over half of your two week vacation here in Wellington, completely alone, with no tramps in sight?"

To which I would also reply, "By choice, man!"

Yeah, I'm choosin' it.

OK, so I cannot completely ascribe my motives to a deep sense of attachment to this wonderful place, this city that just kicks so much ass. Part of the reason I am here for much of my time off is financial. In the 'This Just In' department, economic times are tough, especially here in Kiwi-land where the New Zealand dollar has fallen right down to half the US dollar's value - with continued tumbling still very likely.

Yeah I could have easily whacked some expenses onto the credit card and spent 5-7 days tramping along one of New Zealand's many gorgeous tracks. But, come to that, I did actively choose to spend most of my time round these parts. I have become the worst kind of 'homer' since moving here - but with good reasons!

The walks along Wellington's harbour and the accompanying views really just cannot be beaten. They provide me with much more than just visual splendor: I derive a genuine sense of calm just being down amongst it all. This feeling comes in spite of the fact that I have usually downed anywhere from 1-3 mochas before I hit the waterfront for an extended stroll.

I just love this city. I really would rather be here than anywhere else right now - vacation be damned!

OK. So if you waved a bunch of money at me and gave me an all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas or Orlando, I'd jump at it. After all, I can still spend my one weekday off here in town, not to mention the weekends I'm not working.

But even thinking about planning such a trip away from Welly would incite a real sort of, I don't know, anxiety in me. It's this mixture of irrational emotions that I feel. Like, I'm selfish with any and all free time I have in regards to town - if I have time off, almost invariably I'm going to want to spend it there. I also am, on an unconscious and illogical level, a bit paranoid that if I leave I somehow may not come back. These sensations are exaggerated exponentially if the concept involves travelling overseas.

See what I mean? Irrational. I am completely in the tank for Wellington. I feel really good about this city, almost protective of it.

Wellington has been very kind to me. It's given me a good and steady job in this country, allowing me to stay on in New Zealand - and in its best city (in my opinion) at that.

Aside from my employment and the waterfront along the harbour, I love lots of other things about this city. Just knowing that, on the other side of the CBD, there awaits a collection of meandering, beautiful bays along the Cook Strait is something I find immeasurably comforting. Even adjacent to downtown is a nice long stretch of sandy beach. You might even get to see the occasional dolphin at play out in the harbour as he travels through the bay on some kind of underwater OE**.

The seemingly endless collection of cafes, restaurants, hidden eccentric clubs like the Watusi and pubs galore make the prospect of spending time in town bristle with opportunity. It's a big city, yes, but it has a small-town feel to it. Just as the porridge that Goldilocks eventually ate was just right - not too hot, not too cold - Wellington is similarly 'just right'.

OK so I just compared my favourite place to live in the whole wide world to a bowl of oats and warm milk, but work with me here, people!

The arts are avidly supported here, and while not all entertainment is first-rate, at least there is a lot of it and at all levels: from free street performers to finely-produced operas. There is even a collection of Monet's impressionist art visiting Te Papa at the moment, and never you mind that the roof was leaking right near the artworks! None of it got wet, so no harm no foul.

Most of all, though, I've finally been able to get involved with acting again, now that I have joined the Wellington Improvisation Troupe. And to continue with my questionable analogy above, if Wellington is the porridge, then all of these great fun things to see and do around here are the brown sugar and cinnamon that make it taste so great.

Yeah, let me tack this boat a little better.

I'll illustrate this city's charms further with an anecdote. One day I was walking up Victoria Street by the excellent Lido Cafe, approaching the intersection with Manners Mall. The sidewalk was crowded at that point as it was lunchtime. A small work van was parked half on the sidewalk and half on the road. Ostensibly the guy was in the middle of some kind of job in the area, but as it was lunchtime he was holed up inside the van and having his lunch.

But he was also blasting his stereo at what must have been full volume, for even with the windows on the van rolled up, all who walked within 30 metres of the van could hear Survivor's "Eye Of The Tiger" blasting through.

He must have been really keen for this song - and it is suitably inspiring - so perhaps he was getting psyched up for the second half of his workday.

But it got several of the rest of us caught up in its positive energy as well. Initially, as I was walking by the van, I couldn't help but bob my head in time with the plodding bass line of the song. I had to fight the urge to start shadow-boxing right there in the street. Nobody else seemed to be reacting to the music in a way other than sort of darting their eyes around and smirking nervously at everyone else as if to say, "Hah, this guy has his music up loud, aye?"

But then two girls walking in front of me were overcome by the music as well and, right along with the chorus, began to pump their fists in the air and wail "It's the... EYE OF THE TIGER! It's the thrill of the fight... Rising up to the challenge of our rival!" and so on, but by that time we had all walked past the van and so the sound waves began to diminish.

The two girls had noticed I was also bobbing my head in sync with the beat, and after they sang the lyrics we all shared a laugh. Then, just like that, this spontaneous moment of karaoke theatre was over and we all kept walking our separate paths.

But to this day, every time I approach that corner of Manners Mall, this song springs unbidden into my mind and I start looking around for work vans with stereos blasting loudly.

Of course it was a moment that shall never be repeated, and is one of many that make me see again and again the happy side of this city. I know that kind of thing could maybe have occurred anywhere, but I like to think it's the mindset and general vibe of Wellington that allows such moments to happen.

On that note, I'm off to watch a novel play involving a few W.I.T. friends of mine. It's called The Frogs Under The Waterfront and is a modern adaptation of an ancient Greek comedy called - wait for it - The Frogs, and it was originally written by Aristophanes.

I'm pretty sure there's no Survivor soundtrack, but I do know the experience will add to my ever-growing stockpile of fond adventures in this city!
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* All quotes here used without permission from this excellent film. I suggest you go and rent it right now!

** Overseas Experience. It's a Kiwi thing, and a pretty cool tradition too.

Kiwi-English Dictionary 5: TOP SECRET II: THE SEQUEL

2009-01-26T17:17:00.014+13:00

See also!

Kiwi-English Dictionary the First

Kiwi-English Dictionary, Collegiate Edition

Kiwi-English Dictionary 3: In 3-D!

Kiwi-English Dictionary 4: The Final Chapter of The Return of the Dream Master

SATELLITE FEED RESUMED

18. “Hey, thanks again for cooking dinner. You bought a lot of food, you sure I can’t help you pay for any of this?”

“Nah, you get mates rates.”

“Oh, okay, well thanks again then.”

Said conversation took place with a Kiwi counterpart in the New Zealand linguistic underground effort. Had not encountered the phrase prior to this conversation, however given this was the final in a series of rebuffed efforts to help pay for dinner it became clear through established context that ‘mates rates’ must equal ‘free’.

If not, then yours truly is a deadbeat who missed the boat. But at least he did the dishes afterwards ...

19. “Might be an idea to get the washing in before it rains.”

“I reckon you’re right.”

In typical understated Kiwi fashion, something that ‘might be an idea’ would on the surface seem to be a feeble suggestion. It is, however, nothing other than a politely worded command or, if referencing a concept instead of action, an idea that the speaker feels really ought to be taken on board.

As in, “It might be an idea to wear something besides your Wallabies shirt if you're coming with me to the pub tonight.”

20. “Just bring lots of bug spray. The mossies will eat you alive down there.”

Sage advice given to me by a Kiwi when discussing a pending trip to the south island’s west coast, which although stunningly beautiful is a haven for the pest known as the mossie - what yanks refer to in full as a ‘mosquito’, or as a ‘skeeter’ if they are rednecks. Given the choice, I’ll use mossie, thank you very much.

The fact that the nickname for this annoying, blood-sucking little pest sounds an awful lot like ‘Aussie’ has not escaped my notice.

21. “We thought things were going well, everything was set up. But then we talked to the advisors last week and they had moved the goalposts on us again.”

At risk of insubordination, this is something I’ve experienced within my own secret agent profession although I had never heard the phenomenon expressed in this way before. Obviously it derives from sport and can refer to goals in really anything, from health care to finance to personal sales targets.

I could’ve used this phrase when discussing my future with another agent, for example.

“So, Brooksie, have they given you the Kiwis yet? You must’ve put in for that assignment, what, five years ago?”

“Nah, NAME REDACTED, they moved the goalposts on me again. Now I need another hundred new definitions before they’ll reconsider my transfer.”

At the time, I was reduced to using the term ‘screwed’ along with other more colourful, less-printable words to describe my predicament.

Happily, the coveted assignment obviously came to pass.

22. “I told the cops my speedometer was out of tune so I had no real concept of how fast I was going, but they weren’t having a bar of it.”

To not have a bar of something obviously means to either not believe the speaker or to not care about their plight. Unsure as to the origins, however it sounds musical given the mention of ‘bar’ and to not even have a bar of music would indeed mean having little interest in the song or, in this case, the perceived fib being told.

23. “So I’ll just rock in to the Ticketek office, grab our tickets, and then meet you guys at the gate.”

“Choice.”

To ‘rock in’ somewhere is often heard when describing either something that is done in the midst of a long list of things to do, or to elevate the status of the person doing the ‘rocking in’.

It’s describing you as if you are surrounded by such an aura of coolness or importance that, like a rock star, you crash a scene and cause a stir simply by your presence. Even if it’s just something as innocuous and unglamorous as, you know, hitting the laundrette.

24. Oh, that's another one! Laundrette. It's easy, though, as we/you* Americans call this a 'laundromat', although my first go round with the yellow pages here was making me panic. Not able to find any 'laundromats' listed, I was beginning to think I'd have no choice but to keep buying new clothes.

25. "Had Christmas with the rellies, then spent Boxing Day with my daughter at the beach."

As is probably obvious to all readers, 'relly' is short for 'relative'. Much like 'telly', short for 'television', relly is not known to be part of the present American lexicon.

26. “So there we were, in three metre swells, unable to fish for anything and still in sight of the coast!”

“Shivers!”

“Yeah but things got better when wiser heads prevailed and we sailed back into the harbour.”

At first the only person heard to utter the word ‘shivers’ was the, um, girl who cuts my hair. It’s obviously in the spirit of other such exclamations, like ‘Gosh!’ or ‘Whoa!’ but to illustrate all similar such words is way beyond the scope of this entry.

Given that the girl was British in origin, it was initially thought that it was only fashionable to say this back in the UK. But have since heard it spoken by two other confirmed Kiwis who do not, to this agent’s knowledge, know his hairdresser.

So am lead to conclude that either, A) my hairdresser has a truly globe-spanning influence with her vocabulary (they do meet lots of people in their line of work, after all) or B) while it is a favourite phrase of hers it is overall an uncommon one and thus took a little longer than usual to corroborate.

Hmm. Just saw my reflection in the mirror, and shivers! It’s time for another haircut.

27. ‘Australian coach spits the dummy after Kiwis claim Rugby League World Cup title’.

That or something similar was how the headline ran in one of the papers the day after New Zealand’s boys did that very thing.

Curious as to the meaning of this phrase that had certainly never fallen on these ears (or eyes) back in the States, I have come to find that it describes when someone is so riled up about something they get carried away in a pique of whining, name-calling and blaming – much as the Aussie coach did after his side was humbled by the indomitable Kiwis.

Without getting into a sidelong discussion about the match, suffice to say it is never good to 'spit the dummy'. A dummy, and I believe this term is Australian in origin, refers to an infant’s binky or pacifier. To ‘spit’ it describes what usually precedes a crying jag or temper tantrum or both. While this is something we have all done as infants, on numerous occasions, it is bad form to grump about on this level as an adult.

Assuming, of course, that the individual in question can be considered an ‘adult’, as some people just never grow up.

28. “They can’t expect us to keep paying such high prices for petrol when their own costs per barrel have plummeted, can they? Surely not.”

Another elegant turn of phrase, ‘surely not’ is by no means anything remarkably unique. It is just a refreshing alternative to heavy hitters like ‘absolutely not’ or ‘hell no’.

29. “I mean, who gives a toss if she’s at your party? It must be nice to have all that money and always go to posh gigs and be seen swanning about. Won’t someone just end her?”

OK so there are a few good ones in there, but ‘swanning about’ really just nails it when describing someone vapid and vain, doing what they do in their high society ways.

No bitterness from this agent here! I mean, if it weren’t for my undercover status... well, I still couldn’t swan about because I couldn’t afford to.

Sigh.

On to the next one.

30. “All he has is a small biscuit for his breakfast, then he goes for a long walk in the afternoon before I give him his tea at night.”

A pause.

“You feed him tea?”

“Well of course I feed him tea! He’s got to eat sometime, doesn’t he? When do you think I should feed him instead? In the mornings?”

Discussion regarding a client’s pet dog, during which it finally dawned on me that ‘tea’ is a synonym for dinner – dog, human or otherwise.

Not sure of the origins, probably British of course, but that’s one more little mystery solved.

31. “Let me just put it all in a wee bag for you, dear.”

As you might imagine, something ‘wee’ is something small. Also used to describe a person, often a ‘wee lass’ or a ‘wee little chap’.

The very same word also describes urine or the act of making it, but I have yet to hear anyone say they’ve got to excuse themselves for a ‘wee wee’.

32. “Phone your order in today for your Rugby Sevens tickets and whack it on the plastic!”

Akin to the short, violent motion used to slide a credit card through that stubborn magnetic strip reader, to ‘whack’ something on there is suitably descriptive. I say this because, whenever I do this, I also envision my credit rating taking a big ‘whack’.

Savings account? What savings account?

33. “Meanwhile, we're down here doing all the hard yakka, and they’re the ones reaping all the benefits!”

Cannot recall the original conversation, but does it matter? I hold this definition to be self-evident.

Speaking of yakka, or hard yards, you’ve done quite a lot of it just to get this far in this report! Good on ya.

34. “It was a real yakker!”

Enthusiastically spoken as Zimbabwean agent Danie described, with not a little fondness, his memories of the time he got on a party bus in Christchurch.

He was actually referring to the scene at each of the pubs they would stop at. They would ‘bowl in’, have a drink or two, then get back onto the bus to be driven to the next pub in a series of about, oh, two dozen.

Very often, the population of the bus at the end of the night would be quite different from the one that set out on the bus earlier in the day. It was quite normal to lose a few passengers at each pub, only to then pick up replacements along the way. Drinking was allowed on the bus as well, so there really was no need to miss out on one second of the merriment.

I’d be shocked to learn if these things still happen, but if they do then consider this sentence this agent’s formal request for a transfer to the Christchurch branch, Party Bus Division.

Certainly the regulars on those buses must have a set of lingo all their own, different again from the rest of New Zealand’s? Would you want this now-seasoned agent to miss out on such a golden opportunity?

Surely not.
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* Identity crisis? What identity crisis? I'm undercover, man!

Kiwi-English Dictionary 5: TOP SECRET

2009-01-24T17:17:00.013+13:00

Attn: Home Office

From: Linguistic Agent Brooksie

I have now reached Day 929 in deep Down Undercover here in the land of the Kiwis. I apologise for the delay in this latest dispatch but as it is now the New Zealand summer I have had increased pressure to maintain my cover. While day after day of barbies, bachs and lazing by the pool have been nothing short of stellar, it has left me very little time in which to compose my intelligence reports lest I attract too much unwanted attention. While these Kiwis certainly know how to work hard and play hard, it would look mighty suspicious were I to be caught using my satellite phone in the middle of a paddock while all the other guys are crowded round the barbie.

As it is, I nearly blew it when I said I couldn’t find my ‘flip flops’ earlier. It was quite an awkward pause, let me tell you, as the entire room seemed to stop and hold its breath. At first I was unaware of my verbal transgression until Hamish corrected me by saying, “You mean you’ve lost your jandals, mate?”

Only years of top-notch dialect training and acting lessons let yours truly off the hook. I cannot afford any more such slip-ups or they will be on to me. The less said about the time I neglected to serve out chocolate fish with everybody’s flat whites that one Sunday morning, the better!

My time is short, the kebabs are nearly done, and it’s a long sprint back to the bach (in jandals no less), so it is without further delay that I give you my latest insights into that addictive, quirky linguistic curiosity that is

KIWI ENGLISH

This time given with more context clues from actual conversations so as to better define the terms or phrases. Wherein the author must hazard a guess as to the true origins of a phrase or even as to its true meaning, he maintains a full sense of plausible deniability in the modern parlance of our times. Nothing but denials will be given by the author even under the duress of torture, yada yada and all the other standard boilerplate disclaimer language you can think of applies here as well.

1. “We’re all out of blue top.” (Blue top milk is whole milk, while green top is skim).

“Who wants to run to the dairy to get some more?”

“Bags not!” This phrase was uttered by everyone at morning tea save for me, and was accompanied by the touching of an index finger to the nose.

Whereupon they all realised I was the only one not to say this phrase (and/or touch my nose in a similar manner), I played off my mystification as simple surprise and realised I had just failed at a common Kiwi ritual in getting out of doing something. Proclaiming 'bags not' is akin to the universal practice of ‘calling it’, under which the well-known ‘shotgun’ rule applies when setting off for a trip in the car with multiple passengers.

Needless to say, yours truly went to get the blue top, only all too happily as another valuable phrase can now be added to the Home Office’s ever-growing lexicon. Cover was maintained in this instance, and only just.

2. “My, you look as if you’ve been in the wars, chap!”

Spoken by a Kiwi pet owner as they regarded a cat in a cage neighbouring their own cat’s in the hospital. The ‘in the wars’ cat had been in hospital for two weeks and had just finished fighting off an upper respiratory infection as well as a blocked bladder. His skinny demeanour, two shaved front legs and snotty nose attested to his ‘war-torn’ look.

3. "Nah, you can just biff all your old tax records, mate. No need to keep so many dusty boxes around, ay?"

To 'biff', in any other country, means to hit someone or something. Which makes sense, as I can just see it now, appearing inside a word balloon that pops up during one of those fight scenes in the old Batman TV episodes. But here and only here in New Zealand, 'biffing' something means throwing it away or, as we might say in the States, 'chucking it out'.

4. “I’m really exhausted, ay? Think I’m just going to blob out on the couch tonight and watch a movie.”

Rather self-explanatory. Heard when someone was asked if they wanted to go out for coffees with the group after class. Was tempted to offer up an observation as to how similar this was to the American expression to ‘sack out’, which also usually takes place on the couch, but did not want to draw undue attention.

In this report, however, such comparisons can be drawn without fear of breaking cover.

5. I am still working on this one, but after repeated observation and listening, I have started to form a clearer picture of what is regarded as a true Kiwi ‘bloke’.

It’s a man who is a bit rough around the edges and mostly hangs out with his mates. He will often engage in DIY projects, has a local pub at which he downs pints with the boys, and he goes for sport. Possesses a rugged charm and works hard for the money. Would give the shirt off his back to his mates and probably to those he doesn't even know, if they are in a bind. Is equally at home discussing economics as well as the virtues of heavy machinery. Not so much into the arts or café culture. To be referred to as 'a good bloke' is high praise indeed.

As bloke is not in the American vocabulary, might I suggest someone at Mission Control look into finding the equivalent descriptive term, if such a thing exists?

6. “He’s not going to just cark it when he goes under anaesthesia, is he?”

Asked of me by a very concerned owner at the undercover job regarding a Boxer who needed an eye operation. Had to stifle a laugh as it is one of the more wonderfully descriptive, if not grim, phrases this agent has yet encountered.

And no, the Boxer in question did not, in fact, cark it.

7. Speaking of the animals, a chook refers to an adult chicken. Make room for this one right now in the Home Dictionary. What a great farm word. Also seems to double as a term of endearment, although so far only heard when referring to pets.

8. There are no specific recollections of this next phrase turning up in conversation (read: my Sony Memory Stick was full), so it will just be mentioned that to ‘come a cropper’ means to die. To snuff it. Shuffle off this mortal coil, and so on.

Suspiciously British in origin. I don’t know why I write that. But it is suspected that to be a ‘cropper’ means one’s corpse is now nothing more than mere compost for the gardens.

Here is a sample sentence to illustrate:

“If you don’t stop eating pies and cut out the smoking, you’re going to come a cropper, mate.”

9. “So I really don’t need to tip in any of the restaurants, then?”

“Dead right, mate. Dead right.”

From a conversation with a fellow linguistics agent from Zimbabwe upon first entering the country. ‘Dead right’ is, as Americans might say, ‘Exactly.’

10. “I was visiting one of my girlfriends in Noosa, and I ran into Ang there. I hadn’t seen her in donkey’s years!”

Spoken by a female co-worker. It is assumed that donkeys must live very long lives but as livestock are not this agent’s expertise, it is left to Mission Control to corroborate or further elucidate the origins of this phrase.

11. “Simon! We don’t have time to go up Ngauruhoe today. Let’s just skip it and move on.”

“Don’t stress. We’ll be fine.”

Obvious meaning, however a phrase that is exclusive to the Kiwis as compared to the Americans. Our equivalent might be ‘chill out’ or similar.

Stress was averted and the mountain was climbed, incidentally.

12. “Egg.”

“Ay?”

“You’re an egg.”

“Ah, I’m not familiar with that one!”

Was free to admit ignorance on this one, as was speaking with one of our Kiwi liaisons in the Secret Linguistic Service, so cover was not an issue.

‘Egg’ refers to someone who is a bit of a geek with regards to their sense of humour, if not a little obnoxious. Being called an egg is a mild if not affectionate type of insult.

I am one, apparently.

13. “Yeah we’ve been going flat tack since last month.”

Used to describe how busy things have become at work this summer. Probably has origins in sailing terminology as maritime recreation has a strong history here in New Zealand.

14. “But $1800 includes everything involved with the trip, full stop. Registration, airfare, hotel. The lot.”

Heard when discussing the prospect of an advanced learning course with a co-worker. Probably also nautical in origin.

15. “So how’s he doing these days?”

“Oh, he’s as happy as Larry since we brought him inside! Spends his days curled up beside the fire. Sleeps on his bed. No problems.”

Spoken by a client when asked how their older, arthritic dog was coping with a recent blast of cold weather. Unclear as to who the original Larry was, but must have been one happy bloke.

16. “Yeah, we’ve got to bring him in for his jabs. What’ll that cost, you reckon?”

Asked of me by friends (real ones, not ones provided by the Agency) when discussing their dog and not, as it may sound, a boxer in training.

(And by boxer I mean professional fighter, not the dog breed.)

(God, this job can get confusing!)

17. "Do you want to come have a look at his bandage? Where his paw is sticking out looks all manky."

Another word that just sounds so much like what it describes, when something is said to be 'manky' it is usually a combination of greasy, smelly and general nastiness. Have also heard this used to describe another person's hair, on more than one occasion (not mine).

SATELLITE FEED INTERRUPTED

STAND BY TO RECEIVE REST OF COPY
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See also!

Kiwi-English Dictionary the First

Kiwi-English Dictionary, Collegiate Edition

Kiwi-English Dictionary 3: In 3-D!

Kiwi-English Dictionary 4: The Final Chapter of The Return of the Dream Master

Not overheard at Café Astoria

2009-01-20T20:22:00.028+13:00

Or, Hypothetical Conversation That Took Place During One of Brooksie's Many Visits to Café Astoria*

"Oh my God, here he comes again."

"Who?"

"It's that guy, remember him from last time? He always carries that black satchel with him."

"Oh yeah, I've seen him before. He's not been in for a while though, ay?"

"Nah, mate. You don't remember what happened the last time he was here?"

"Well he always seems to be typing something on that little keyboard of his that he carries around everywhere."

"I know, strange isn't it? Yeah, no, that's not what I'm talking about, though."

"Oh wait! Now I remember. He's the one that went to the loo as soon as his food had arrived. And he was sitting outside. Bloody unfortunate, that was."

"Yeah. Those pigeons made a hash of his food, didn't they?"

"Yep. They dove into his coffee, too, if memory serves."

"They really go for those marshmallows."

"At least he apologised for it. He felt really bad about it, actually."

"I know. Kept trying to pay for the replacement mocha and peach shortcake we brought out to him."

"Yeah. Poor bugger. Must've been so embarrassed! It was right during peak lunchtime. He was surrounded by pigeons and onlookers."

"Well, if it bothered him, he didn't let it show. Kept right on typing, once he got settled in. He sure seems to like the atmosphere here."

"You don't think he ever writes about us, do you?"

"No!" he said, in that long, drawn-out Kiwi version of the word that sounds more like "Naaooww!" It is a more powerful version of the word that is used when expressing serious doubt. "No, I don't know what he writes about on that keyboard of his. Must be taking classes or something."

"He looks a bit old to be at uni, doesn't he? Perhaps he's a teacher."

"Mmm, maybe. But any proper teacher would have a laptop, wouldn't he? What do you call that piece of black plastic he's got?"

"It's surely not a laptop, I can tell you that much. So you don't think he's a restaurant critic or anything?"

"No, mate. He does tell us he really likes our coffee, and he's always trying different things on the menu. I've even seen him in here with different friends on occasion as well. But, if he is a critic, he doesn't write for any of the papers or websites that I read through. And I check them all."

"Dead right, mate, you had better check them all! You're the owner of this place."

"Yeah, yeah."

The sudden sound of breaking glass came from a small table situated at the center of the restaurant, at which was seated a lone figure in front of a small black keyboard. He had been attempting to slide an empty plate across the table, however an empty ceramic yoghurt cup that had been precariously balanced upon the plate's edge came invariably tumbling down and shattered into fragments on the hardwood floor. Small streamers of white yoghurt sprayed out from the crash site, forming a crude starburst pattern.

"He's at it again, mate. You got this one?"

"Yep, I'll get it. Look, he's already starting to clean it up himself. Poor bastard."

"At least there are no pigeons this time," laughed the owner.

"Aye, well, if we don't get that yoghurt up in a hurry, there will be pigeons, mate!"
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*While none of the conversation in this ~~review~~ entry is real (it is hoped), the events described therein may or may not be true. What is true, however, is that the food, coffee and most especially the atmosphere at Café Astoria are what make it a favourite stop for this author.

Everything but the pigeons, of course.

Apropos of nothing ...

2009-01-03T16:00:00.012+13:00

As I was walking past the Paramount Theatre on Courtenay Place this afternoon I noticed on their chalkboard marquee that "North By Northwest" was playing. And I said to myself, "Self, what a great movie to see on the Big Screen again!"

Which got me to thinking about what other films aside from this great one of Hitchcock's I might enjoy seeing in a proper movie theatre again.

Oh yes, and Happy New Year everybody. May 2009 bring you all that you hope for and more. Look under "Beautiful Photos" to the right or click here to see an album containing 50 pictures from my New Year's camping trip to Hawke's Bay, if you're interested. Had a great time with my friends Sarah, Simon and Monica. They taught me how to say 'water' like a proper Kiwi, and it sounds remarkably similar to how New Yorkers pronounce it!

Back on topic. Here, in no particular order, are the 7* movies I'd like to see re-screened on the, uh, Big Screen. So with that in mind, pop the popcorn, dim the lights way down, kill the mobile phones and cue that cool "The Audience Is Listening" theme from THX!

1. "North By Northwest" (1959) ~ Well, duh, seeing as how I just mentioned this film, let's cover it first. The primary reason for this one being on the list is that epic chase sequence at the end of the film that has the protagonist running across Mount Rushmore. This is a gripping thriller involving a case of mistaken identity and another reason I'd like to see it again is I have forgotten nearly all details of the plot so it'd be like déja vu all over again. And as it first came out on the Big Screen in 1959, it was well before I was born so I've never really had the chance to see it. Until now - thank you, Paramount Theatre!

2. "Conan The Barbarian" (1982) ~ This film is one of my top five favourites of all time, and though you may scoff at that selection allow me to justify it. First and foremost I love how the producer was convinced to drop the crap soundtrack he'd intended to use (apparently he got his wish for the sequel, "Conan The Destroyer", which is not anywhere near my top 100 favourite films list). Instead, the director was able to get Basil Poledouris to compose a score befitting this epic tale. All of the instruments used by his orchestra were of a technology and type found in medieval times so this film to me is a rare marriage of sound and vision. Second, there are some great lines from this film, ranging from the simple yet effective "Crom!" to "Dinner for wolf?" to this classic exchange:

MONGOL GENERAL: "Conan! What is best in life?"

CONAN: "To crush your enemies! See them driven before you! And to hear the lamentations of the women."

MONGOL GENERAL: "That is good."

3. "Raiders Of The Lost Ark" (1981) ~ This is my Number One Favourite Movie Of All Time, and it never fails to cause a stir. I admit with some sheepishness that this film not only inspired me to a future choice of career (which I abandoned, once I grew up and realised that archaeology is not, in fact, the glorified tomb robbing you see in these films), but it also affected my wardrobe at the time. I wasn't the flashest of dressers in high school, but I had very kind parents who indulged me and I did have a kick-ass leather bomber jacket from the original, cool Banana Republic before they turned all vanilla. I also had a hat very much like Indy's, only unlike Harrison Ford I wasn't able to pull this one off with anywhere near the rugged sexiness that he displayed. Shocking, I know. In fact, I looked rather absurd in it, so it spent far more time looking cool on the hat rack in the foyer than it ever did on top of my head.

This is also the kind of movie that's just made for the Big Screen, although admittedly these days with home theatre technology being what it is, justice can be done to it there. Even so, it still only approximates the experience of seeing this film in a proper movie theatre. Also I cannot afford such a magnificent home setup, so for that reason among many others, bring back Indy, Sallah (the Monarch of the Sea), feisty Marion, the idol, the whip and that rolling boulder!

4. "Gladiator" (2000) ~ While not my most favourite film of all time, it ranks right up there on my list and it is perhaps the one I long to see the most on the Big Screen again. I saw it three times when it was first released, and what kept me coming back was that intense opening scene. It gave me goosebumps every time. Such an engrossing battle, what with all the flaming arrows and the camera angles used to show them taking flight. Maximus' pre-battle speech to his troops made me want to man one of the ballistae or, hell, to pick up a sword and charge in there myself and slash at a few Germanics. His rallying cry of "Hold the line!" during the battle was just awesome. This was also one of Oliver Reed's very last films before he died, and while I'd only seen him in one other film, he gave a memorable performance as Proximo in this film.

5. "Blade Runner" (1982) ~ Still my favourite adaptation of one of Philip K. Dick's stories (Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?) and a superb film in every way. Roy Batty is one of the most compelling characters portrayed on screen to date and is my favourite performance of Rutger Hauer's. I fell in love with Sean Young (yes, in spite of that weird hairdo) as probably did every other teenage boy who saw this film. Leon's chilling "Time to die!" scared me witless back then and still gives me a chill today, although it does make for one hell of a good movie quote. I'll never forget that plastic raincoat Zhora was wearing (Rrrrowwwrrr!) and Edward James Olmos' acting was outstanding in the role of Gaff. Another great line, this one his: "It's too bad she won't live! Then again, who does?"

I have also yet to see the Director's Cut of this, which I really must do, so it's another perfect reason for a local theatre to screen that very edition for me. You do read this blog over there at Embassy Theatre, right guys?

I don't know why, but I have a sinking feeling somebody is going to try and remake "Blade Runner" sometime in the next decade. Wait, I do know why: Hollywood can't seem to help itself when it comes to robbing its own graveyard. Some films ought not be touched! This is one of them. I won't even check IMDb.com to see if a remake is in the pipeline. Ignorance is bliss!

6. "Heavy Metal" (1981) ~ All right, so obviously animated films have come a long way from this benchmark film, but you still just can't substitute anything for this movie. It features six stories from the magazine weaved together into one overall cohesive seventh tale, some of which feature sex and all of which have lots of violence. Throw in a killer soundtrack and even more memorable lines (these are big with me), such as, "And if you refuse: you die, she dies, everybody dies." John Candy did a voice or two, along with some of his buddies from SCTV such as Eugene Levy, Harold Ramis and Joe Flaherty. My favourite segment was "B-17" - pure evil!

7. "The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy" (2001-2003) ~ Trilogy Tuesday is something I'll never forget, and I nearly missed out on it. It was in 2003 and was the lead-up to the first official screening of "Return Of The King" in the States. In fact, while other popular films would make their debut at the stroke of midnight the night before the official studio release date, those of us fortunate (and dedicated) (um, and nerdy) enough to be present for Trilogy Tuesday would get to see it at 10:00 PM. Two full hours ahead of the rest of the suckers who'd have to wait to see 'just' "Return" at midnight. Yes, it was fan-boy heaven all right, but it was so much fun to be a part of it all. The first two films in the trilogy were also shown in their full four-hour states as well, with all the bells and whistles Peter Jackson had originally intended to be in there. We were served hot dogs during the first intermission, and pizza during the second. Plus we got to take home a cel from one of the movies, encased in plastic, as well as a few other memorable trinkets.

Nerd Alert!

So why, after spending 14 hours watching these three movies in the theatre once already, would I want to repeat the experience? Well, aside from the explanatory text in red above, the version of "Return Of The King" we saw was not the extended one! So that could be rectified. Plus in a perfect world they would be shown at the Embassy Theatre right here in ~~Middle Earth~~ Wellington, where world premieres for all three films took place.

Honourable Mentions: The original "Star Wars" trilogy (Episodes 4-6) and "Grease". They are merely listed here because I've already seen them in Big Screen re-release, but of course I wouldn't mind seeing them up there again. I'd only want to see "Grease" in the company of a bunch of friends who wouldn't mind making dicks of themselves like I would in singing almost every song (and doing the dance moves to "We Go Together"). And, while we're at it, please put "A New Hope" right by having Han shoot Greedo first, m'kay? Thanks.

So I'm curious! What are some films you'd like to see again on the Big Screen? I know I've left out a few that I'm sure I'd enjoy going to the movies again to experience.

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* Why 7? Because it's all I can think of right now!

Christmas in Palmy - Young Heart, Easy Living

2008-12-28T18:50:00.017+13:00

As per usual, I was the first one awake on Christmas morning. Not that I bolted awake at the first hint of light to race downstairs and see what Santa had put under the tree.* No, it was probably because the night before I really pounded the water at bedtime in a vain attempt to head off my hangover at the pass. Now my bladder was forcing me awake, its complaints mixing uneasily with the first pangs of a headache, announcing itself in a self-righteous manner, as if to say 'See, I told you so!'.

Bloody keg beer. Apparently, it's all that carbon dioxide keeping the beer nice and foamy that makes you more prone to having a wicked hangover when you consume beer from a keg. Not that knowing the exact mechanism of the culprit helped to make it go away any faster.

I shambled into the kitchen of my friend Sarah's home and fixed myself a tall glass of cool clear water. After downing that and pouring myself another, I helped myself to the toaster and began putting together a little breakfast.

Soon enough, Sarah's stepfather, Peter, joined me in the kitchen making us the only two having arisen in the household thus far. He reminded me again as they had told me the night before to make myself at home and to make full use of the kitchen. He then set the jug to boil and I realised caffeine would also be a nice thing to throw at my headache.

You see, once again, my friends Sarah and Simon came to my rescue. Last time, it was on the slopes of Mount Doom (I mean, Ngauruhoe) when they helped egg me on all the way to the top, Simon graciously taking my pack off my hands. My friend Iain gets the assist here as well, for he and Si would not take no for an answer when it came to me giving in!

This time around, Sarah and Simon extended an invitation to spend Christmas with them and their family in a little town to the north called, well, Palmerston North (hereinafter referred to affectionately as 'Palmy').

(There is a Palmerston and it's on the south island but that's another story for another time.)

This is where they got married back on November 1st so it was nice to be returning to such a lovely setting. Having moved out of Wellington a couple of weeks ago now, Sarah and Simon were living at her childhood home in Palmy with her mum, Sue, and her stepdad, Peter. They were all such generous hosts, making me feel right at home the entire time and when they offered me to stay even longer than I already had (three days, two nights), I was sorely tempted to take them up on it.

Sarah and Si won't be around these parts much longer, as they take off for England for a couple of years then likely another year after that spent somewhere else, perhaps Aussie. Eventually they will return to New Zealand and hopefully the lower North Island (hint, hint), but for now anytime I can see them is a bonus. I was also shown every courtesy while staying with them for the Christmas holiday, and now that I'm a holiday orphan it really is quite overwhelming to be invited in to other people's homes at this time of year.

The Kiwis in general would never see this as an imposition as they are a happy, social and sharing lot. Yet to me it means a great deal as I am able to not only soothe the homesickness that comes naturally at these times but to also experience a holiday in the style of another country. Admittedly, it's not like I'm having to speak through a translator or take malaria sickness pills just to be here, but they do things a little differently down here for Christmas.

For starters, it's summertime right now. I realise that in Texas and Florida and other generally sunny and warm climes in the States this is part and parcel to their Christmas holidays (pun intended). But for me, coming from southwest Virginia where we're used to cold if not white Christmases, it's a new experience. I still feel like it's time for fireworks and not mistletoe at this time of year but I'll come around eventually!

They also have the delectable Christmas pavlova, Boxing Day, Christmas crackers (although I remember them becoming more and more commonplace back in the States), some bubbly and of course they fire up the barbie if the weather's decent outside, which it usually is. I've covered some of this already in my post about my first Christmas here in New Zealand, so I won't rehash it all here.

After I chatted with Pete a bit over some toast and coffee, I poured a second cup of joe and left him to check his email while I wandered out towards the big living room at the front of the house. Still not another soul besides us was stirring, so I gazed through the large bay window out onto Dahlia Street.

There was a little girl, probably all of 8 or 9 years old, riding around on what appeared to be a flash new scooter. It had pink bows near the top and she seemed to be quite happy with her now toy as she rode up and down the deserted street in front of her house. But that wasn't all she was doing - she was also talking on a little pink cell phone!

I barked a laugh and realised how the times have changed. It was all of 8:30 in the morning and here was this kid: up, dressed, outside playing and not with her friends but talking to them on a cell phone. As I thought about it, I figured of course she's up right now - she's a kid and it's Christmas morning!

And who doesn't have a cell phone these days? Not only that, who doesn't have a Bebo/Facebook/Myspace page? I'm fairly certain she had probably already uploaded pictures of her new scooter to whichever page she has active and may have been making a comment on her 'Status' via Facebook Mobile.

I'm pretty sure this little girl wasn't making day trades. I mean, it was Christmas Day, all the markets were closed!
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* I mean, I'm not a naive little kid anymore or anything! There really was no downstairs where I was staying. The rest is all real, though. ISN"T IT?!

"I am waiting for Vizzini."

2008-12-09T19:03:00.006+13:00

Wow, has it really been over two months since I've written here?

That was a rhetorical question, since I can see clearly from here the time and date stamp on my last post. Sorry 'bout that.

I do have an excuse, however: I've been really busy. And in a good way!

So what have I been up to, exactly?

To quote my good friend Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, "Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

I was fortunate enough to be comped a one-night stay at a flash hotel in Auckland (Sky City Grand) by the drug company Pfizer. They have a new, long-acting injectible antibiotic due out early next year and they were giving out free vials for us to 'test drive' before the product launch. So they paid airfare, hotel and had an open wet bar on the night plus a full catered dinner.

Our plane was late taking off from Wellington due to mechanical problems, so we missed our shuttle to the hotel when we finally arrived in Auckland. I met up with two other lost souls headed to the same meeting, one of whom turned out to be a long-lost friend from the south island. This was Katy, a vet originally from Romania, who now lives in Blenheim with her husband Raz. I blogged about meeting them in one of my very first posts here.

So we all got to the hotel, and with the Pfizer meeting already 30 minutes gone, we agreed to quickly freshen up then meet back in the lobby. This we then did, and when we got to the right room for the meeting, most of the dinner tables were full up and the talk was in full swing. I skulked along until I mercifully came to the lone table in the back with any spare seats. Quickly and quietly, I took my seat, turned my chair sideways in a lurching but silent manner, and had a squizz at the menu.

Deciding upon what I'd have to eat (the scallops, of course!), I then looked up from the menu placard to behold, sitting directly across from me, my first boss from the south island! I'm sure she was as surprised to see me as I was to see her. How funny and cruel fate can be sometimes. But, New Zealand is a small country and the veterinary population an even smaller subset within it, so I should not have been shocked to have seen her again at such a big meeting.

She smiled pleasantly at me and said hello, and for this I was much relieved as when we last parted things were rather tense. I smiled and said hello back and it was actually quite an unexpected relief to have seen her and have it gone so well after all this time.

So that happened. The meeting went well, there was much hobnobbing and the trip back to Welly went much more smoothly.

A funny thing occurred whilst I waited at my gate in Auckland for the flight back home. I had arrived fairly early so I grabbed one of the few remaining seats, snapped open that morning's paper and began to digest all the news inside.

After about fifteen minutes or so, the woman to my left very meekly asked me a question.

"Excuse me, sir? Can I ask you a big favour?" she said in an American accent with a southern twang.

"Hmm?" I said, looking up from my paper at her. "Oh, sure. What did you need?" I was mildly curious as to what the favour could be, as she must have been agonising over this request for some time, given how long she had been sitting next to me in silence.

She then went on to tell me how she had just gotten in from the States, had been traveling for close to 36 hours now and was due to fly out to Christchurch next (this was starting to sound familiar...). The woman, whose name turned out to be Joanie, said she was so tired she was having a hard time thinking straight but she was getting concerned about her son, whom she was on her way to see. She hadn't heard from him before she left Texas, which was unusual because he usually called, and now that she had been airborne for so long she was not able to contact him at all. Being in New Zealand now, she was unable to ring him on her American mobile phone as they did not have any service towers leased in this country.

Joanie really needed to get in touch with her son, she said, because she had a voucher for a free shuttle ride to her hotel so she wanted to tell him to meet her at the hotel and not the airport, where he was currently expecting to find her. At least, so she hoped, as she hadn't heard back from him since emailing him these instructions!

"So, do you mind if I use your cell phone to try and call him?" Joanie asked me.

"Well of course I don't mind!" I said as I handed my Nokia brick over. I was touched by her predicament, as I had been in a similar situation a couple of years ago regarding the long travel and sudden lack of contact options. (But that's where the comparison ends. I don't have any sons living in New Zealand). She reminded me of my own mum in that she loved her son very much and missed him, yet she wasn't in a state of panic about her current state. Just moderate distress.

I noticed with some alarm that I had exactly one bar (out of like ten) remaining on the power for my phone. What a dick! I knew I should've charged the phone before I left Wellington.

Joanie tried in vain a few times to raise her son on the phone, but her calls weren't even going through. I knew they should, since she was now using a New Zealand mobile to try and call a New Zealand landline. After some fumbling around on my part (hey, it was early) I finally got through... to her son's voicemail!

I quickly handed Joanie back the receiver before my battery died and she left him a message letting her know she had arrived safely and was due in Christchurch soon and about her change in plans. Before she broke the connection I told her to tell him my number in case he got the message and wanted to call back. This she then did, and I could see she felt a lot better and I was only too glad I could help - weak battery and lack of common sense notwithstanding.

We chatted a bit and it turns out she has three boys, two of whom run a sheep ranch in Montana, having grown up on a sheep ranch themselves in Texas. Joanie's youngest son, the one in New Zealand, decided to strike out here after college and do something a little different from his older brothers's plans. He knew he could always go back to the States and be a successful rancher on either farm, but he wanted to pursue a little world travel first while he still could. I'd say he picked about the best country he could have, and he did me one better as he was living and working in Queenstown!

Joanie mentioned how two of her sons had graduated from the University of Texas, while she herself and her youngest son, the one here in New Zealand, had gone to Texas Tech. The very next day, both schools were due to play in an epic college football game and we joked how no matter the result, either way she'd be on the winning side. (Tech won that game, for those of you keeping score at home).

It was about that time that my phone rang, and seeing the number I handed the phone to Joanie as it was her son calling back. She was thrilled to finally talk to him and hear that he was well. After singing my praises about the 'very nice man at the airport' she hung up with him and handed the phone back to me. Even though Joanie looked tired, gone now was the weary look she wore when we first started talking.

Right after that, Air New Zealand announced over the gate's intercom that my flight was now boarding. So I said my goodbyes to Joanie, wished her all the best on this her first visit to New Zealand, and I knew that the next three weeks for her would be awesome. She purposefully didn't learn any of her son's plans for their trips around the country, wanting to be surprised wherever they went.

She bade me a very sincere and grateful goodbye, and with that our serendipitous little meeting was at an end. So, Joanie from Texas, you will have been to New Zealand and gone back by now, and I hope your trip here was an unforgettable one!

I've got more to report but this post has become dangerously long (so much for the 'summing up'). So 'well done' to you if you've made it this far, and thanks for reading! More to come later.

Did this ever happen to James Herriot?

2008-09-24T22:45:00.013+12:00

Once before, when I was more overweight than I am now, there was a rather amusing incident that took place while I was at work. In fact, although I was able to laugh at myself at the time, this one occurrence served as a catalyst for me to finally get to work on losing some weight. The happy ending here is that I finally did get to where I wanted to be, which was after about 15 months I had gone from 238 pounds down to 184. It took a disciplined combination of regular exercise (swimming) with making dietary changes. Namely, I cut out soft drinks and started paying attention to my daily caloric intake. Having to think about each thing I ate and how many calories it contained really put things into perspective.

It's a few years on from that and I find myself needing to lose a bit of weight again, thankfully not nearly as much as before. I just hope that, unlike last time, I don't end up with another story like this.

It all started out as a routine veterinary consult. There was a rather large dog, a Siberian Husky I think, that had come in to have a certain lump on his belly checked. So I greeted the Husky and his attractive female owner in the consult room at the end of the hall. These rooms were set up in such a way that you come in through a door opposite to where the owner comes in, and between the two of you is the exam table.

So this dog, let's call him Lance for I have no recollection of his or the owner's actual names, is sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the exam table from me, behind which I am standing. As per usual, before looking at the dog, I got a good start on the nature of the complaint and the dog's history with the owner, which helps me sort out what the problem might be and also so that I don't miss any other important details.

After a few brief moments of this, I finished talking to Lance's owner. I then grabbed a needle and syringe and went around to Lance's side of the table.

Setting said instruments on the exam table, I asked the owner if she could get Lance to lie down on his side so I could better see and feel the mass and then, ultimately, aspirate it with the needle.

This she then did, and what happened next I found to be quite embarrassing. Mortifying, in fact.

I was wearing a favourite pair of work slacks which I owned from the time before I had ballooned out to 238 pounds. So they had been through quite a lot of strain over the years, not only from the routine wear and tear of working in a vet practice, but also lately through the additional strain of covering a huskier pair of hips and thighs.

As I went to kneel down beside the now-prone Lance, there was a very loud 'POW!' that startled all three of us, most especially the owner.

Both the owner and I shot upright, she asking in a bewildered state, "Oh my God! What was that?" There was a look of genuine surprise on her face.

I, feeling a sudden chill breeze blowing on my backside, immediately knew why but didn't know quite how to explain it. My pants had finally given out on their oppressive owner with a vindictive and thunderous retort.

Sheepishly, I started backing around the table, never turning away from the owner. As I fumbled behind me for the door latch, I offered some lame explanation that everything was fine, and I'd be right back.

Backing through the door and never showing her my (now-exposed) backside, she seemed less terrified but still wore a befuddled expression.

Once on the other side of the door, I thought I'd be safe but I realised my trials and tribulations were only beginning. Here I was, wearing a pair of pants that had split entirely from the base of the zipper right round and all the way up the back to the level of the belt loops. My boxer shorts and the backs of my legs were completely exposed as my pants had quite literally exploded off of me. So great was the strain on the stitching, under duress these many months, that it finally gave way with an apocalyptic rending. I never knew pants could or would do this, especially so loudly.

I was a long way from the office where any spare pants might be, so rather than stroll down the hallways in my exposed state, I decided to call for help.

I think it was Megan who was just around the corner in the lab who heard me first, and she came running. When she got to me, I explained why it was I was holding the door shut and not moving an inch.

She started to laugh, clearly making an effort not to laugh even harder, and then went off to search the office for a replacement pair of pants for me.

Thankfully Megan returned in due time, but by now others had become aware of the situation. There was a pants-less doctor in the hallway and this sort of low comedy was definitely not missed by my clever co-workers. As chagrined as I was, I couldn't help but laugh along with them but I still had a sticky situation with Lance's owner. She must have been wondering why I backed out of the room in such a hasty and red-faced manner.

Well, when I returned, she immediately knew why. The only pair of pants in the hospital that were clean were some of my boss's purple surgical scrub pants. I am taller and also broader of hip than Andy is, so the fact that I could get them up around my waist at all was an accomplishment. But they were so tight I could barely move my legs forward and back, so that when moving I walked like one of those poor Chinese women from ancient times who bound her own feet.

Shuffling back towards the door to the exam room, I realised another distressing detail: not only were these purple pants high-waters, thus exposing my black work socks, I had also chosen on that day to wear my purple scrub top. So now I was clad all in purple.

This detail was also not missed by the expert staff of crack comedians working at the hospital, as the very next day there was a picture of Barney the Dinosaur taped to the shelf above my desk.

Pushing back through the door to confront my embarrassing situation with Lance's owner, I could see that she was relieved to see me again and that I was all right. Almost immediately, though, her eyes shot down to inspect my new choice of leggings, and I could see a grin flash across her face that was quickly suppressed.

Awkwardly, I realised she now knew exactly what the 'big bang' was and why I had backed out of the room in the manner that I did. So I just tried to play it straight as if nothing untoward was going on here, and got on with the job of aspirating Lance's tummy mass. It wasn't easy, because as I knelt down again by his side to check the lump, a flash of panic ran through me. Yes I was wearing new pants but they were tighter on me than the ones I was wearing before. What if these pants exploded too? I'd not only have to go through the whole shameful experience as before but this time there was no hope of a third pair of pants without going home!

Thankfully somehow I managed to kneel down and aspirate the lump and tell Lance's owner that it was just a benign fatty mass (no irony there) and not worth any real concern.

There was very little said between us after that, as I think the owner was too busy stifling the urge to laugh and any attempt to speak would cause the dam to burst, so to speak. She thanked me and retreated with Lance back to the reception area. I noticed she had been blushing the entire time since my return.

At least for the rest of the evening I never had to back out of any more rooms as the undersize purple pants held true for me. But they probably made more than one client wonder at my fashion sense - let alone why I was walking so funny.

Weeks later, three of my good friends took me out to a small birthday dinner after work. I was presented with a small wrapped present. As I opened it, I beheld a very useful gift that could only have one meaning: it was a miniature emergency sewing kit, such as one might need for those times when a button is lost.

Or, more precisely, for when one must deal with the humiliation of an exploding pair of pants.

A very Brooksie update

2008-09-18T19:32:00.018+12:00

Once again it's been a while since I've penned an entry for this blog of mine. I blame the enthralling fortnight-plus that was the Beijing Olympics for getting me off track here.

OK so I'm not one for excuses, but watching those events really was an attention-grabbing, time-sucking experience as I'm sure it was for the rest of you who enjoy that sort of thing. My routine was such that I'd watch the main broadcast on TVNZ and when they'd either go to commercial or to an event I wasn't quite keen on, I'd swivel around 180 degrees in my chair and focus on the computer. There, I had TVNZ's website loaded up where they had four different channels streaming events not on the main television broadcast. Between the two mediums of internet and television, I was pretty well unable to focus on anything but the Olympics. Often, before I knew it, it would be well-past midnight on a work night!

Now that a sense of normalcy has returned to my life, lately I've been trying to go to as many improv shows as I can, since I am unable to join the Troupe for training until probably next year. If I'm not at one of WIT's shows on a Wednesday night I'm in yet another acting class I've signed up for on Monday nights. I've taken all of the improv acting classes WIT has to offer, so I've found another set of night classes offered through the Wellington Performing Arts Centre. These are mostly dance classes but they also have a few levels of theatrical and screen acting on offer. We are nearing the end of the First Level of the 10-week course, with our last class slated for this coming Monday night. It's been a good experience and luckily I'm able to continue with it for a second 10-week session, as we are all about to become 'Level Two' actors.

Sweet! Get me Spielberg on the phone. I think that's what Level Two must mean, right?

Yeah, right.

For our next block of classes, and I think all of us are staying on for it except for my Dutch friend Dana who is sadly leaving New Zealand, we are going to go about it with the goal of putting together a scene or a short one-act play at the end of it. This is rather ambitious, given that we only meet once a week and even then for only 90 minutes. But we will see how it goes and I'm sure we'll learn a lot along the way. As with the other classes I've taken since moving to Wellington, this one is filled with people of several different nationalities. There are about a dozen of us regulars, and amongst our lot we can count two Irish girls, a Dutch girl, a Chinese guy, a British girl and I am the only American this time around. The rest are all Kiwis and at the beginning we had a guy from South Africa but he decided not to stay with the program.

For the next part of this update, please take sixty seconds to watch this here clip from 3rd Rock From The Sun:

Lately I've become a little too much like Dick Solomon in that clip. Unlike Dick at the end of the episode, I'd like to fit better in my pants again by actually losing the weight and not just buying bigger pants, as he did. Wish me luck. I know it's going to take a while but I've gotten into a good routine lately. What with daylight savings on the way here soon, I'll be able to walk up Cannon Point again after work without having to bring along a headlamp, flashlight and walking stick just to try and avoid massive injury. I want to exercise but I don't want to risk life and limb in the process!

There are no more operas or symphonies for me the rest of this year, but I will certainly be a supporter of the New Zealand Opera again next year. I'm looking forward to seeing Chris Brown (from Tappahannock, yo!) and Rihanna in concert together at the end of October. Should be a great show and tickets for that sold out very fast so I was lucky to get them when I did.

My friends Sarah and Simon are getting married the weekend after that concert and soon after that they're off to England for an OE (Overseas Experience - it's a Kiwi thing) for a couple of years. Although I've not seen them much lately as Simon's been working in Aussie the past few months I will certainly miss their company when they go, and we'll miss Sarah at work for sure. But they promise they are coming back and, hopefully, they'll decide to come back to Wellington. We'll see.

Well that's it really. Nothing terribly exciting but life is good and interesting and I have absolutely no complaints. I've also been Warcraft-free for almost a year now, so that is also a good thing. Great game, but it demands far too much of your free time so that it becomes your so-called social life as you will have no time for a proper one outside of the game. If many of your 'real-life' friends play and enjoy it, then by all means sign up! As nobody I know here plays Warcraft, and as there are far more engaging things out there for me than a computer game, I have relegated the game discs to 'coaster' status and it's nothing but an anxious memory for me.

All right, I'm gonna go see if I can find some free dance lessons on YouTube or something. I don't want to make a complete jackass out of myself at Sarah's wedding reception, so I need to be able to 'bust' at least two or three moves to maintain a respectable presence on the dance floor. I could dance OK back in college but that's been an uncomfortably long while ago, and what with all the acting classes lately it's left precious little time in the schedule for dance lessons. So I need to brush up on my coordination, preferably in the privacy of my own home behind drawn curtains. Maybe I can improve my abilities (such as they are) from 'Frighteningly Bad' to 'Mildly Humourous' on the dance floor. I am hoping for lots of strobe lights, as they make everyone come up aces out on the floor. A good crowd into which I can blend myself would be a welcome bonus, too.

God help us if they have a karaoke machine at this reception.

Going for Gold in Men's Insomnia

2008-08-09T11:29:00.006+12:00

I stayed up until nearly 5 AM New Zealand time last night (today!) to catch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Beijing. I nearly ignored the alarm that went off at 11 PM in order to stay in bed as sleep, once it takes hold, is hard to give up.

But I'm so glad I didn't!

Like many of you I was blown away by the entire spectacle. They made the fireworks look so great and so easy to do but I guess it should come more naturally to the culture that invented gunpowder. My favourite touch regarding the fireworks was the set of 28 footprints leading up to the Bird's Nest Stadium, representing all of the Games to come before this one. It's only too bad the people in the stadium could not get the full effect of that, although they sure got an overload of other amazing things.

The final torch-bearer's run (Li Ning) across the inner rim of the roof was spectacular and I just couldn't get over how BIG the freakin' torch was! For a brief moment, I thought the flames were going to engulf the poor guy as well, it went up in such a roar. The continuing theme of the unraveling scroll throughout was a nice touch, especially how they carried off that special effect. The painters who laid down the initial sketch of a mountainous skyline, coupled with all of the athletes' footprints finishing the work, was an exceptionally nice touch. England have their hands full trying to top this opening ceremony, especially the torch. Wow.

It was a thrill to finally see the American contingent emerge once all of the nations' athletes began to take center stage. It was nice to hear them get such a warm reception from the Chinese crowd, too. I thought the American uniforms were interesting, as everyone seems to have just left the yacht club in order to come to the Games. I half expected to see Spalding from Caddyshack walk in front of the camera, bitching about how he wants a hamburger, no a hot dog, and a milkshake...

Anyways, I always love it when the Olympics are on, even more than when the soccer World Cup is going. China (Beijing, anyways) is only four hours behind us, which is good because most stuff won't be on time-delay for us here in New Zealand. The bad thing is, event coverage will go until 4 AM most nights, so I am going to be sleep-deprived for the next fortnight! But I don't mind in the least, the Olympics for me are always something to savour. I especially enjoy these Games more than the Winter Olympics, although they are great fun as well.

Say what you will about China, they got the spirit of the Olympics right last night. Maybe I've been reading the newspaper too much lately, which is usually full of mostly bad news, but the world needs this shot in the arm every once in a while of goodwill and humanity.

Citius, Altius, Fortius.

HBO moots Brooksie as Casting Director for new series!*

2008-08-08T03:30:00.004+12:00

Everyone has their favourites in life, in categories like movies, food, music, celebrities, and destinations, among others. Sure, you might have your 'Top Ten' favourites and, depending on the category, sometimes it's hard to flesh out the list whilst at other times it's very hard to whittle it down to just ten, let alone set the order straight.

But sometimes, not necessarily in every category, there is one thing that goes beyond being merely a 'favourite'. It so completely blows away the rest of your list that it is in a class all by itself. I'm not sure what to call this exalted level of favouritism, except perhaps 'Unhealthy Obsession' or maybe 'To Die For'. Not to get too carried away with this, but sometimes you just experience something that has such a profound influence on you that you forever make it a part of your life, however small.

It could be a song that really clicks with you, either on some philosophical level or more likely for sentimental reasons. Maybe it's a movie that just had everything right that you look for in a film. Or maybe you actually have a life and are right now feeling a little sorry for me and perhaps a little amused that I could be so esoteric about elements of pop culture.

But that's OK! You see, I am so excited about what I am about to tell you that I am beyond caring how much of a 'fanboy' I look at the moment.

The category in question here is books; specifically, a series of novels currently being written by George R. R. Martin. Collectively, they are known as A Song of Ice and Fire (ASoIaF) and at present there are four published books in the series. The fifth is on its way (hopefully by mid-2009) and Martin presumes there will be about seven total books when the series is completed.

This is a series of books that are the best I've ever read, bar none. They are written from several different characters' points of view as the story is advanced, and without giving too much away the cast of characters telling the story changes somewhat in each novel. There is much intrigue amidst a vastly developed history. This world is filled with polarizing, fascinatingly complex characters that are downright addictive. Martin has some experience writing horror so this is not your typical fantasy series. It is tinged with a dark and ominous feeling as the ever-present threat that 'Winter is coming' serves to heighten the sense of dread and doom as the books progress.

Still, there is enough of a positive thread going here that it is not entirely without hope. While I am at pains to remain patient while waiting for the fifth instalment in this brilliant series, this post is not about the next eagerly awaited novel in the ASoIaF series. No, I have much more of a jones for this:

HBO turns 'Fire' into fantasy series

I know, it's very old news judging from the date of that posting, and of course the prolonged writers' strike earlier in the year put everything on hold including this project. But I was so thrilled to read about this! You see, I feel we fantasy aficionados were really fortunate to be treated to the fine work Peter Jackson et. al. did on the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The films did justice to a series of books that are highly difficult to treat right on the big screen, and they were a major success in everything from casting, writing, costumes, setting to all the little touches.

If you're like me, when you read a really good book, you often wonder how it would translate to the big screen. Who would they cast as the main character? How are they going to film this scene? What the hell kind of budget are they going to need to do this right? Things like that. Well I certainly thought about that a lot with the ASoIaF novels, but these thoughts were always laced with the certain knowledge that these books could never be made into movies. They are simply too long and involved (kind of like this post, you have my apologies) to be practically shown on the big screen. The LOTR films were a stretch even with just three books 'condensed' into just over three hours each, with the extended editions on DVD clocking in at four hours apiece. Even with that, they had to eliminate certain parts of the story and even merge two characters into one, in some cases.

While I have no problem with that, most of the movie-going public, even fans of Martin's books, would not have the stomach for a six-hour film for just one book. Especially since just to get all the material from one book into six hours, you'd have to edit a lot. I'd rather not see them butcher these novels just for the sake of getting them on the big screen.

Enter HBO. In all their awesomeness, they decided to greenlight production of the ASoIaF novels in the only format they ever could have: televised serial episodes. This is brilliant because in my opinion HBO is the only network that could have done this. They have an obviously lavish budget for their series, almost all of which have been exceptionally well done on every level. You may not like all of their shows (I know I don't like them all), but you have to admit they all are expertly crafted shows.

It looks like Martin is going to get about 23 one-hour episodes per book/season, which is perfect as it will allow them to explore all the nuances of the complicated plot as well as the many unique and blemished characters that tell the story. Martin himself may write 1-2 episodes per season, something which will be easy for him as he cut his teeth as a writer working on "The Twilight Zone" and "Beauty and the Beast" television shows.

Now if you enjoy a good book as much as I do, you will know that if they ever decide to put it on the big (or small!) screen, they simply must get the casting and plot right! There is much truth to the axiom that, 'The book is always better than the movie,' in my opinion, but this does not mean that they cannot keep the faith with the gist of all the major plotlines.

Equally important to me is who they decide to cast in the film, for a poor or tragic casting choice can really make or break the whole project. Just as much as deciding to shitcan a significant part of the plot can make a dog's breakfast of it all, so too can casting somebody completely wrong.

I am confident that HBO will do a great job on both counts, and am hoping that more than a few of the major parts cast will go to new and mostly unfamiliar actors. This will serve to keep everything fresh and new and allow me to enjoy these books all over again in this format without being too biased towards who is playing what role.

That being said, I hereby offer my humble suggestions for just a few of the parts, with a few other notes as well.

Sandor Clegane, "The Hound": I'd love to see Adam Baldwin in this role. He's got the physique for it and is familiar with playing brutish, anti-social characters. The Hound, like everyone else in ASoIaF, is complex and quite compelling and is one of my favourite characters in the series. I am encouraged by how well the special effects/makeup departments did with the Harvey "Two-Face" Dent's look in The Dark Knight, so they should be able to make Sandor look scary and threatening with ease as one side of his face and skull are horribly burnt from a childhood incident.

Arya Stark: My favourite character in the series, which is a hard choice since so many of them are great. But only until recently I had nobody in mind for her role until I saw Juno, and I realized Ellen Page would be great in this role, even though she's not 'horse-faced' like Arya is described in the books.

Robert Baratheon: It was hard not to picture Brian Blessed in this role, but he may be getting a bit on in years for this, especially since this whole project seems to still be in the 'concept' phase.

Jaime Lannister: I have always pictured William Katt here, but as my friend Pete put it, 'he's a bit long in the tooth for it' now. I just can't think of any other blonde curly-haired actors who would fit this role!

Tyrion Lannister: Peter Dinklage seems to be a pretty universal choice for this excellent role, one of the best characters I've ever encountered in a book. Mr. Dinklage would certainly be great as this character, I do hope he gets the nod when this goes to production. By the way, I've always thought that Tyrion must be quite similar to the author. I just get the feeling that there is far more of Martin in this character than any other of his that he's created. Wouldn't it be awesome if he cast himself in this role?

Eddard Stark: Michael Biehn would fit this brooding, dour persona best, but really this role could be easily cast.

Catelyn Stark: Julianne Moore would certainly be great for this role. She could carry off the noble haughtiness and tough inner resolve, which are two of Lady Cat's more defining qualities.

Qyburn: I am jumping all over the place with these suggestions but I only pictured a few established actors as these characters when reading the books. Given that this dark soul has necromantic tendencies, I feel that none other than Jeffrey Combs of Re-Animator fame (infamy) should or could play this role. Of course it's a smaller role but it'd be so cool if they managed to cast this guy here.

Margaery Tyrell: While Martin's description of this princess as 'doe-eyed' and 'beautiful' with her long tresses of dark brown hair makes her an obvious fit, I hope you don't think I'm gratuitously including Jennifer Love Hewitt here just because I think she is one of the hottest actresses! Call me crazy, you wouldn't be the first, but I stand by this choice.

And a final poignant mention of the late Heath Ledger. All through the books I pictured him as Ser Loras Tyrell, Margaery's valiant and arrogant older brother. He would have made a great Knight of Flowers but, like so many other great roles we will never enjoy seeing Mr. Ledger play, this is one that will have to go to someone else.

I realize this post is probably long-winded and about something to which you cannot relate, but I've been wanting to post about this HBO project for some time since I'm so excited about it. My friend Chris got me hooked on these books about ten years ago, and since then I've gotten two other friends madly hooked on them, and have discovered quite a few fellow fans along the way.

I can wholeheartedly recommend these books to you, whether you read fantasy or not. They are gritty and dark at times but I have not found a more wonderfully, completely crafted fantasy series than A Song of Ice and Fire. Though George R. R. Martin makes all of us wait for years in between novels, our one consolation is that at least there are several more novels still to come.

And now maybe a kick-ass TV series on HBO to boot!
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*Yeah, right. I wish!

A truly technicolour yawn

2008-08-02T00:01:00.006+12:00

"Brandon, these people are here with a puppy they think ate some lead pencils," Liz said as I was finishing up with another client.

"Oh, okay," I said. "I'll see them next, just a second."

Normally we are appointment-only, however for things that obviously cannot wait to be seen, such as potential toxin ingestions or other emergencies, we will of course clear the decks.

I'm still pretty new to New Zealand, but I couldn't remember the last time I used any lead-containing pencils in the States. Well, okay, I could remember using them way back in like second grade but we're talking the mid-1970's here. Lead had long since been banished from most commercial things like paints and petrol, and certainly things that little kids might handle such as pencils.

But I knew it would not be smart to assume (is it ever smart to assume?) that there is no possible way this puppy could have gotten hold of a pencil with lead in it. To wait until she showed symptoms would be foolish as lead certainly can be life-threatening in more than one way. Also, if given the opportunity to prevent further absorption of a toxin - and the timing does not always work out like this - then by all means you have to take it.

In most cases, this usually involves making your patient vomit.

Yes, normally I'm trying to stop my patients from vomiting any way I can, but in these cases it can help them out tremendously. Just as long as you can, you know, stop them from vomiting once they've gotten everything out they need to.

So I head out into the waiting area and there, surrounded by about eight girls ranging in age from five to, oh, fourteen, is an adult woman looking a little discombobulated. One of the girls is holding onto a little mixed-breed terrier with long spiky light brown and black hair. Somewhere under all that poofed-out hair was a dog, I assumed, so I asked them all to follow me into the exam room.

The ten of us now in the little exam room, all of the girls watched me intently as I took the puppy from the little girl who was carrying it. "Kaylee" was the pup's name, and sure enough under all of that fur was a pair of shiny black eyes and a smiling face. There were several suspicious pink smudges along the puppy's upper lip and jaw, and she gave a little wag of her tail as I picked her up.

The woman whose job it was to shepherd all of these girls and their sick puppy placed the chewed-up remnants of three coloured pencils on the exam table. They were all various shades of pink. "Here. That's what we found with her when we got home. Actually I'm not the owner; this girl's mother is still at work so they called me."

"Ah," I said. "Well that is just fine, you did good getting her in here quickly like you did." I knew the girl from whom I took the pup was the dog's owner, but as far as her relationship to the other girls I never knew for sure, or even if the woman there was the mother to any of the other girls.

It was no matter, and I asked them if they saw her actually chewing on the pencils. They said that they did, they caught her doing it soon after they got in from school that afternoon. I asked if there were any other things they saw her chewing or that looked as if they may have been chewed by her, and they said there weren't. Apparently most of the coloured pencils in the collection survived desolation in this puppy's jaws, but given enough time I'm sure she would have moved on from pink to some other tasty colour.

I examined the pencil fragments more closely, looking for anything emblazoned down the side that might indicate that these contained lead. There was nothing of the sort (it's never that easy), so I still didn't know for sure. Also, I remember most pencils used for writing used to contain lead but I was never sure of the coloured pencils. Did they ever contain lead? If they did, did they somehow escape the moratorium on lead in all 'normal' black pencils?

Kaylee seemed in perfectly good nick, aside from the pink smudges on her face giving her up as a pencil-chewer, but lead takes a while to work its damage. Among other things it causes the destruction of the body's red blood cells and also can have neurological effects, such as seizures. Not wanting to wait for any of these things as proof, I told my assembled crowd that it was now time to make Kaylee vomit.

There were a variety of reactions but mostly they seemed actually pretty keen to see this happen! One girl I remember held her ears as I said this, and I'm not exactly sure what she was expecting because vomiting isn't usually a deafening occurrence, but she seemed a little bit distressed. Nonetheless they all followed me to the courtyard, where I told them I'd return with Kaylee once I'd given her something to make her vomit.

There are several options for inducing vomiting in a dog or a cat (dunno about you human types, but too much alcohol has always worked for me). My favourite over the years for getting a dog to yak has been good old hydrogen peroxide. One or two tablespoons of this, combined with a brisk walk around the yard, has given me the most successful results. There is a drug called apomorphine that most other vets swear by, but it has let me down more often than I have found it to work.

With one of the nurses holding on to Kaylee, I gave the pup a couple of teaspoons of peroxide and she took it like a champ. It also helped to scrub away the pink smudges on her fur, which made her look as if she had tried to apply some lipstick during an earthquake.

We returned outside where the girls eagerly awaited some results and the nurse walked Kaylee in brisk little circles around the yard. Kaylee was having the time of her life, getting all this attention and exercise. After five minutes with no results, I decided to give the peroxide one last go. After that, I'd move on to the apomorphine or perhaps some washing soda, as I really did want to make her vomit since she'd just ingested these bits of pencil.

After too much longer, it'd be too late to try vomiting as a treatment and I'd have to make a decision about treating her with an expensive antidote. A heavy metal chelator, succimer is quite good at what it does, but at a couple hundred dollars a pop, it was an expensive insurance policy compared to the cheap wonders of hydrogen peroxide.

So Kaylee bravely downed ten more milliliters of hydrogen peroxide (bravely, hell - she had no choice!) and we returned to the outside. Within a minute of her touching the ground, she started to make those initial motions involved in upchucking. Her tiny belly contracting, her neck extending, she finally managed to disgorge a slimy pile of mucus, kibble... and pink smudges of chewed up pencil!

Several of the girls let out a collective "Yay!" and I was pleased to see that Kaylee finally vomited. She horked up about another seven or eight progressively smaller piles of pink-coloured goo until finally she stopped bringing anything up and then stopped retching altogether, all in the span of about ten minutes. Perfect!

Poison control didn't seem to be too worried about these coloured pencils containing any lead, unless they were several decades old. The woman had no clue but the little girl who owned Kaylee said they bought them this year, so I felt relieved that they were probably free of harmful toxins. Still, I educated the girl and her chaperon about signs of lead toxicity and to keep a close eye on Kaylee.

And to pick up all remaining pencils, coloured or otherwise! For that matter, to try and puppy-proof in general as best they could, for as any dog owners know, anything that's not bolted down (and even then ...) is fair game for a dog to chew on, doubly so for a puppy who's curious and teething.

After cleaning the slobber off of Kaylee's face and noting that the vomitus had served to re-colour her whiskers with a tinge of pink, we handed her back over to the girl and they all left happily.

The next day, the girl's mother stopped by to settle the account and let us all know that Kaylee was fine. The woman was quite happy we worked them in at a moment's notice, especially while she was away at work and unable to attend or pay straight away. I told her the pleasure was all ours and Kaylee was a very sweet puppy.

After all, it's not that often that you can make a little girl happy to see her puppy vomit! Except when it's pink and potentially toxic, I guess.

One Walk To Rule Them All

2008-07-20T14:00:00.004+12:00

Today I am blogging to you while standing up. This isn't because I'm trying to set some obscure new Guinness World Record or anything (although, now that I mention it, perhaps I should look into it ...). No, it's out of necessity. I've got a bad lower back, thanks mainly due to my being blithely unaware that my back was not indestructible when I was younger.

Things aren't all that bad. I'm only able to stand or lie down right now, as sitting down causes the muscles to spasm further, but in spite of this bad back I've done fairly well. I can still move around, which is good and means I don't have to call out of work any more since that bad first day. I can rehab it with stretching exercises once I'm a bit better, so that maybe this doesn't ever happen again. I even managed to climb Ngauruhoe last year, albeit with much mental coaching and a hell of a lot of patience on the parts of Iain and Simon, not to mention the rest of the group!

Standing while writing is also appropriate to this particular entry, as I came across an article in yesterday's Dominion Post regarding something cool about which I had forgotten. It is the Te Araroa (meaning 'The Long Pathway' in te reo Maori) project, which aims to finish the gigantic walkway that would link the very tip of New Zealand's north island at Cape Reinga with Bluff near the very bottom of the south island. Slope Point is technically the southerly-most point of the south island but it's not by much and it's a fair bit east of Bluff, which is a much more logical destination for this pathway as it's just south of Invercargill and the convergence of two major roads through the bottom of the south island.

Cape Reinga is a destination that's high on my list of places to go while living here in New Zealand. Apart from the fact that it would satisfy that curious traveler's notion to stand at the extremes when visiting various locations (The northernmost part of the country! The exact centre of the country! The very intersection of FOUR whole states! The highest point in all the world! You get the idea ...), Cape Reinga also has much spiritual value to the Maori. Reinga means 'Underworld' in te reo and it is from here that they believed the spirits of the dead departed for the underworld. If you follow the link above you can glimpse some of the beauty of this part of New Zealand.

Bluff, up until very recently, was home to among other things the famous paua shell house. I know after my mum's visit here she'd have loved to see something like this, given her instant fascination with the pretty, iridescent shells. Sadly it was removed last year from Bluff, but its legacy lives on in the Canterbury Museum in Christchurch.

To have these two extremes of New Zealand connected by a walkway (which doesn't cross Cook Strait, obviously, although I guess a real purist would swim the Strait between legs of the pathway!) would be an awesome opportunity for tourists, tramping enthusiasts and native New Zealanders alike. It is very nearly done, too, with a goal of December 2010 as a completion date. Apparently the trail is about 94% complete, as constituted, but it's the other 6% that is proving to be the most difficult. These scattered stretches of desired potential walkway belong to private landowners, from whom permission must currently be granted to cross their land at all let alone to have a permanent and public walkway created through it.

While many of the landowners' concerns are real, from worries about their livestock being distressed or abused, to intrusions on personal privacy and even fears of vandalism and theft, the people behind the construction of Te Araroa are trying to assuage all of these doubts. They say, quite rightly, that most hoons (thugs) couldn't be arsed to hike even a few hundred metres just to commit a bit of petty crime, beautiful and alluring though the track may be. Also pains will be taken to ensure that these trails are not blazed right in the owners' backyards in full view of the bedroom and bathroom windows.

The lovely Shania Twain herself owns a bit of land on the south island and she not only agreed to let a significant portion of Te Araroa - including two huts - be built on her property, she also paid out a significant sum of her own money to help in its development. Hopefully all other landowners involved in Te Araroa's planned route will follow Ms. Twain's gracious example, if not financially then at least in spirit.

I've been on a fair number of trails so far in New Zealand and many of them at some point cut through some benevolent landowner's property and I'm immensely grateful for it. So I hope that Te Araroa is able to be completed, and I think that it will be but there are concerns that December 2010 may not be doable. Even so, it is possible to tramp a great majority of this glorious walkway already as about two-thirds of it is considered 'good walking track' and the other legal 24-odd percent is a mixture of roads and unblazed trail.

I have yet to pore over the specific portions of Te Araroa outside our immediate region, but if what they have planned for the route between Wellington and Porirua is any indication of the tramp's eventual beauty, it is going to be quite alluring indeed. Part of this route includes the Karehana Scenic Bay Reserve, which is billed as 'tiny' and 'gorgeous'. It sits on the west side of the lower north island and apparently there are lots of tui birds that nest there in the kohekohe trees.

So I know that Te Araroa is going to be an exciting and exemplary way to not only show off much of New Zealand's inner beauty, but also a way to be physically out among it all and enjoy it to the fullest. I'm so glad this is a walkway and not a parkway. I certainly have plans to hike portions of it, if not all of it - but not all at once of course. It puts me in mind of America's own Appalachian Trail, given its breadth and grandeur. I know the length of Te Araroa will certainly rival that of the AT, and I'm just now noticing the odd symmetry there: we being the opposite hemisphere our version of the AT is, naturally, the TA.

Perhaps Bill Bryson himself might even venture here to walk it one day and write yet another excellent book about his travels, as he did regarding the Appalachian Trail in A Walk In The Woods. Or perhaps I can attempt to be an antipodean Bryson and hit the trail myself and pen my own version, but I think I'll leave that sort of thing to the pros.

Also, New Zealand already has its nine Great Walks but once Te Araroa is completed, what shall it be referred to as? THE Great Walk? The Granddaddy of the Great Walks? Or shall it be known as the only Great Walk and the others shall become known as The Decent Walks?

No, that wouldn't do, as I've done one of them already (the Tongariro Crossing) and it's far beyond just 'decent'. I'll offer up my own suggestion while resisting the urge to note the obvious one that leapt off the page at me as I read about Te Araroa: Nine Great Walks and One Walk To Rule Them All.

I shouldn't have to give that one any context! OK so there were more than just nine Rings of Power in Tolkien's Middle Earth, but since nine of them went to 'Mortal Men' (we humans), my analogy still stands.

How about... New Zealand's Nine Great Walks and One Really Kick-ass Walk?

Yeah, I agree. I think 'Te Araroa' is just fine.

A little comedy, a little W.I.T., and a lot of fun

2008-07-10T20:48:00.012+12:00

I was walking up Cuba Street one night last week, on my way to see a friend from my Improvisation class take her first stab at stand-up comedy. The cool night air made for a pleasant walk up Cuba, a part of town that seems to never be lacking in people or great places to eat or get a cup of coffee.

As I traversed this largely pedestrian-only street, I passed by many people enjoying their pints of beer or glasses of wine out on the sidewalk seats in front of the various restaurants and bistros. The night was just cool enough for me to enjoy the warmth emanating from the propane-powered heaters as I walked amongst the outdoor drinkers. The thought of a glass of beer, consumed slowly while basking in the welcoming heat, was almost enough to make me stop and join the crowd.

But I didn't stop, for I did not want to be late for Danni's act. As I continued my stroll up Cuba, I saw something written on the sidewalk with chalk in various colours. It mentioned the "Rookie Comedy Night", complete with an orange arrow pointing inside an open doorway. This was the San Francisco Bathhouse and it would be my first time going to this particular place. It reminded me a lot of the Mighty Mighty, further down Cuba, as it too was on the second floor and was deceptively small from the outside but once inside I could see how long and far back the club went. An outdoor patio at the front was a smoker's haven, not to mention a great spot to people watch as folks went up and down Cuba Street. A long bar was up against the far wall, and the back half of the room was dominated by a large stage.

There were a couple of rows of leather sofas at the very foot of the stage, followed by small round tables lit romantically with little white floating candles. Behind these tables were some larger ones, and then a back row of barstools completed the main seating area for the stage. Opposite the bar itself in the front half of the room were many more tables and chairs, and I could easily see how the entire room if cleared out would be a great dance hall or a venue for a rock concert.

As I purchased my ticket and ponied up to the bar, I listened to the one-man acoustic band on stage. He wasn't bad, but he wasn't the reason I was there. While waiting for my pint of Mac's Gold, I spied Danni sitting with her boyfriend at a table across from the bar. I went over and said hello, wishing her luck (which, in the performance business, you do by saying "Break a leg!" and never "Good luck!"). She was quite nervous, and I felt a mix of emotions for her. I knew from class how funny she was and how versatile she was with improvisation.

But stand-up comedy has got to be one of the toughest and most terrifying things you can attempt and on top of that this was her very first time. Still, it was billed as an amateur night, so the expectations couldn't be too high for these brave souls who dared to take the stage to try and make us all laugh.

I've heard other comics talk about how difficult it is to craft a solid 45-minute act, saying it takes hours and hours of performing, re-writing and honing just to get it right. And then you still have to deal with hecklers sometimes, something which would almost certainly unnerve me no matter how well my jokes were going over with the crowd.

I felt a little nervous for Danni because as the hosts busily prepared the stage I could not tell if there were any other comics in the joint except for her! She seemed to be the only one the hosts were interacting with, so I knew if she was truly going it alone up there that would only make her more nervous.

Well, it turns out there were at least ten different acts that night, and Danni was the first of them all. The female comic who was emceeing that night did a great job of warming up the crowd, and I thought it particularly ironic that the very first person in the crowd she chose to pick on was none other than Danni's boyfriend! He handled it very well and I took this as a good sign for Danni, figuring that the Comedy Gods were on her side that night.

They sure were, because I thought her act was great. You could tell she was nervous on stage but it was never close to hindering her performance. In fact I thought she mastered her emotions very well, as right off the bat she had to deal with a difficult microphone stand and she managed to improvise and make a couple of funny remarks as she fiddled with it in vain.

Turns out Danni is from the UK and much of her humour is in the 'observational' style. Being an immigrant myself, I could appreciate the context of everything she said, and the crowd - which was not a full house but pretty close - bought into her style of comedy too.

She did great and the only hitch was that she forgot completely what her last bit was about as she got lost in the transition. Luckily her boyfriend provided her with a prompt and Danni finished on a good note.

She says she'll do stand-up again and already has more material for her next show, so I think it's great that she was able to break through like she did on the first try.

As for our Improv class, well it finished up this past weekend and it was bittersweet. Sweet because the entire day and mainly the show itself went really well for all of us. It's like after eight weeks of struggling with energy levels, spontaneity and confidence we managed to sort most of it out as we trained during the day. So the performance was a lot of fun for all of us and it is probably the quickest 90 minutes of my life. I couldn't believe it was all over so fast!

The bitter part is that, even though I am now qualified to join W.I.T. (Wellington Improvisation Troupe), I cannot do so for some time. They train on the one night a week where I work late and I am too far away to make it on time for anything. But most of the folks in our class have already gone to the first W.I.T. training session and I think several of them will stick with it. A couple are moving away from New Zealand later in the year, and one or two others may decide they've had all the improv they can handle for now and just move on.

As for me, I've already discussed changing my schedule with my boss, because this is the most fun I've had doing something outside of work since I graduated from vet school. That's eleven years of pining for something 'extra-curricular' and fun to do in my free time since my school days, so I aim to keep this opportunity to continue to perform improv firmly in my sights.

W.I.T. will be around for a while to be sure, and my instructor Simon knows of my current predicament and he assures me the door will still be open for me to join once I am able to free up my schedule.

So until then and until my first performance with W.I.T. out in public, I'll leave you with that and a few pictures of our training the day of our show. Be sure to read the descriptions to understand just what the hell it is you are looking at! Most of it is probably 'you had to be there' kind of material, but we had a blast and I was very glad to have my friend Holly show up to see us perform. She brought along her 'posse' so it was nice to have some friends in the crowd as well as in the show.

My only regret? That Clyde and I didn't get to perform our "Bird's Eye View" job interview scene for the show, only in practice!

The Wellington Routine v2.0*

2008-06-21T21:56:00.020+12:00

Well since moving to Wellington, I've developed a routine of sorts on my days off in town. Usually I divide my time between haunting any of three or four different cafes and time spent outside (weather permitting), walking around town or along the waterfront, sometimes stopping to sit on a bench and bask in the sunlight.

The good thing about this is that it frees my mind up from having to constantly wonder where I'm going or what I'm doing next. I can just sort of pleasurably amble between and amongst these favourite 'nodes' of mine and just relax and focus on my book, writing, texting (in order to pester my friends that are trapped working) or sometimes taking pictures. I've also come to know the staff in these places on a quasi-friendly level, so it's always nice to be welcomed as a regular.

Such is the conceit of the Day Off: I don't get too worked up about always trying to find something new to see or do and I can enjoy my favourite places out of all the ones I have so far visited.

That being said (written), there is far more to experience here in Wellington than I can shake a program flyer at, so I'm always open to new happenings that grab my attention. As much as I love my routine, I don't want it to become stale and boring. Because then, by extension, I would become stale and boring (no comments from the peanut gallery, please!). If that happened I would have to turn to a life of crime out of sheer desperation. As much as that might spice things up around here, I don't fancy the prospect of writing this blog from behind bars. I hear Internet privileges are rather difficult to come by 'inside'. While there may be 'cooking' and 'laundry' details for well-behaved prisoners, I seriously doubt there is a 'blogging' detail.

Anyways, I digress. Not that this is shocking, for it's now become a trademark move of mine. But now that I've got it out of the way, let me finally come to my point.

Last week one of my friends from Improv class last year, Lucy, invited me to an event via Facebook. Once a month there is a tradition called "The Six O'Clock Swill" (SOS) held at one of the coolest places in Wellington, called The Mighty Mighty. I had yet to go there, so I was doubly intrigued by this invitation.

Mighty Mighty sits on Cuba Street, as do many of the coolest hangouts in Wellington. It is an upstairs bar with high ceilings and a ranging, rectangular floor bisected roughly in the middle by a large retractable black curtain. The 'back half' of the building is dominated by a long bar against one wall, while the other side has some tables, barstools and a pinball machine or two. The front half of the bar is where the stage is, all the way at the front by the big windows overlooking Cuba Street.

Whenever there is a show on, which includes things like bands, one-act plays, stand-up comics and improv troupes, the curtain is drawn between the two halves of the bar. Actually the curtain may not be drawn for a band, but I have yet to catch a band at the Mighty Mighty.

There are many tables scattered in front of the stage, and the walls are adorned with a variety of eclectic items such as a stuffed stag's head, an anatomy poster cribbed from some medical school, various black and white photos, and some paintings. A large chandelier dominates the centre of the room and the stage is illuminated by a singular bank of Fresnel lights. The sound system is truly mighty - perhaps too mighty - as I chose a seat right at the front. As good a view as this afforded of the stage, unfortunately for my tympanic membranes I was also right next to the speakers.

SOS is dubbed as 'pint-sized theatre' which is a cute but apt description of what is on offer. There are several acts but they are short and sweet, and I was struck by the inclusive and friendly atmosphere of everyone involved. As Kelsey Grammer (as Dr. Frasier Crane) once said, there really is nothing like the collaborative spirit of theatre, which here is summed up best by this quote from the back of SOS's programme:

“We are always on the lookout for actors, directors, writers, producers, technicians and other creative practitioners to get involved with the Swill.”

Performing first tonight was Steve Wrigley, one of New Zealand's best comedians and also one of Lucy's best friends. Next up was Lucy herself with, I believe, an American actor named Gene. They would be performing a brief scene from On Intimacy, a play by American playwright Lori Leigh. The one-line description of this scene in the programme read, "Have you ever woken up next to a stranger?" The final segment of this particular SOS was an improv troupe, which contained at least one Wellington Improvisation Troupe member, who would be performing another instalment in their ongoing improv series called "Magnum: The Lost Episodes". In this edition, they were inside Magnum's mind as he struggled in a coma, and in this bizarro world Magnum was played by a woman. They did totally open scenes with no audience input so it was raw improvisation and they had a lot of fun with it. The audience enjoyed it but this act, too, was very short.

Lucy was great in her scene, which was also disappointingly short. I say disappointing because it was really neat to see her perform outside of an improvised setting and she did really well with it.

When Lucy and Gene were done with their scene (the laddie reckons himself a poet!) rather than strike their set (which was basically a big inflatable mattress), they left it on stage. The improv troupe made often comical use of this prop but they were careful not to be careless and damage it. It would have been far too awkward to try and deflate the thing offstage while the improv troupe was performing, as the stage area is tiny and 'offstage' is really nothing more than 'Stage Left' concealed behind a folding screen. It would never do to be upstaged by a prop, let alone one not even on stage!

Although I wish there had been more time spent by all three of the acts, there is truth to the theatrical adage, "Always leave them wanting more." They certainly did leave me wanting more and I know I'll now try and make The Swill a regular part of my Wellington Routine, which is now dubbed Wellington Routine 2.0! SOS is a monthly affair on two consecutive nights including my day off so it's very doable for me.

In a way I was glad that the shows weren't too long because I was worried it would clash with the beginning of a WIT show later that same evening. It was the first of their eight weekly instalments of a new show, "The Young & The Witless". This format of improv revolves around eight characters in a soap opera set aboard the fictional New Zealand ferry, the SS Blake. It's a great vehicle (Hah! Get it?) for exploring the character and narrative aspects of improv, and my teacher Simon is one of the eight people in the cast. Y&W is being performed at the Blue Note Cafe, a jazz bar just one click north of the Mighty Mighty on Cuba Street.

The show was great fun, and here is a linkie to a review of the show and here is WIT's own page about the event and the people involved. For tonight's performance I'll be buying a season pass because ~~I'm such a groupie~~ this also gives me something new to do on my days off.

I do love my work schedule, in that having Wednesdays off breaks the week into manageable halves. It's quite a comfortable work week. The only problem I am having with it at the moment is that, once I complete this second half of improvisation classes next month, all of us in the class will be invited to attend WIT's weekly training sessions. That is fantastic, but unfortunately they meet on Tuesday nights - the very night I work late. So there is no way I could be a part of WIT, wit my current work schedule (heh). I have mentioned this to my boss and stated that I am quite keen to change my schedule so that I can attend training. Much as I am loath to give up my Wednesdays off, the chance to perform wit WIT (wheee) far outweighs what day of the week is off for me.

My friend and co-worker Sarah is sadly leaving us soon, and the only silver lining to this is that she has Tuesdays off. It is then a natural time for me to switch to her schedule and have our new hire take over mine. Sorted! But this is not a definite thing so I shall have to wait and see. At the very least, there won't be any changes for several months so training is not an option this year no matter what.

So I'll be soaking up as much improv as I can in the interim, so that I don't lose that edge that you get with repeated improvisation. As Derek, one of the WIT trainers, says, improv talent is a muscle that needs to be worked out frequently or it just atrophies away. So improvisation ain't exactly like riding a bike; it's more like ... pumping iron!

I might even sign up for the Monday night beginners' improv class again, just to keep a hand in, and I'll try and see as many WIT shows as I can until I can train.

What can I say? I'm a ~~slavering fan-boy~~ devoted student of improv!

*I arrived here in New Zealand exactly two years ago today! Nice symmetry, ay? Two years today, Wellington Routine v2.0! Yeah, yeah, I know. Shaddap.

A bit of rugby, some pub food, and thou

2008-06-07T12:14:00.008+12:00

I know this is all really last-minute, but I have been wanting to tell you about a cool way to be able to listen in to the New Zealand All Blacks' rugby matches online. This is assuming, of course, that you don't already get their games televised somehow but given how far off the radar professional rugby is in the United States, I am thinking maybe you wouldn't have the chance to watch these games.

Hey, don't feel bad if you're too poor for a dish - so am I! Once I get a dish from Sky, I'll still put ARC on in the background and have the television muted. That way I can watch the footy but listen to the good stuff from ARC. But to make matters worse, the AB's first game of 2008 is being played right here at the Cake Tin in Wellington (versus Ireland), and I won't even be able to go!

That's why I wanted to tell you about the Alternative Rugby Commentary. Not only does it allow you to listen in, live, as the All Blacks are ~~mercilessly pummelling~~ playing their next ~~hapless victim~~ opponent, but streaming live right along with the action is hilarious commentary. So you not only get to experience the All Blacks and their many wonders to behold, but you get a slice of Kiwi culture on the side. Wash it all down with a few pints of your favourite BEvERage and I daresay you'll have found a great way to kill a couple of hours. Plate of fish 'n chips optional but highly recommended.

At the end of the experience, hopefully you will find yourself highly entertained, a little more knowledgable about all things rugby and especially Kiwi, and most assuredly overjoyed at yet another All Blacks victory.

I must warn you: it is probably not 'politically correct', this live streaming broadcast, but that is precisely one of the reasons why I like it so much. There is a good short article doing a better job of describing ARC than I am, posted over at Scoop. Also, the weather right now in Welly is cold, windy, and wet as we are right in the midst of a southerly. So it is not such a bad thing to have to miss out on seeing the All Blacks in person tonight.

If you miss out on this game versus the Celts tonight, well I only gave you seven hours' notice, so it's understandable. But do check out the Fixture List to the right of ARC's main page, and mark your calendar for a game in the future! There is also an archive section, going back over three years, but the AB's play a lot this year so hopefully you'll get to listen in on at least one match.

Go the All Blacks!

Kiwi-English Dictionary 4: The Final Chapter of The Return of the Dream Master*

2008-06-04T07:10:00.012+12:00

Now, I'm not in the habit of making excuses, but I do want to explain why I've not been posting much of late. You see, my very favourite of all of my electronic gadgets (and there are many, sadly) has been on the fritz lately. Yes, my beloved AlphaSmart has not been working properly for the past few weeks. It has a cold or something. It probably doesn't help that I lug it around with me everywhere as I tramp around Wellington. This also includes the countless times it has been tossed into the passenger seat of my car or onto the empty train seat next to me. At least I keep it in its case, but this doesn’t help much thanks to my common habit of stashing books, magazines, mail, loose change and my iPod in the case with the keyboard itself.

Hey, I never claimed to be the shiniest coin in the fountain!

So hindered thusly, I've been finding other ways to while away my free time, although the good part of that is I've been catching up on other parts of my life that I've been neglecting.

But I can never go too long without updating my blog, so I'm back again! This time, it's with another update in my ongoing, amateurish attempts to catalogue all expressions Kiwi. My vocabulary is always on the lookout for new words (and for every new word I learn, I forget an old one - such is the life of a scatterbrain), and I find that reading books is certainly one way to expand my vocab. Moving to another country also works, but that is a bit of an extreme strategy, to say the least.

Nevertheless, that is exactly what I have done, and so I mean to share with you some more of the funky and catchy words and phrases I've picked up whilst living amongst the Kiwis!

I should warn you, though, this is quite the long post ...

See also!

Kiwi-English Dictionary the First

Kiwi-English Dictionary, Collegiate Edition

Kiwi-English Dictionary 3: In 3-D!

blimmin' - First time I heard this one, I wasn’t sure if it was that person’s own personal creation or a term in wider use. Turns out it’s another bit of Kiwi slang! So I’ve added it here, and while a direct definition is hard to give, I’ll weakly offer you these American slang synonyms: friggin’ and freakin’. That got ya up to speed? Good! Now go use this new word and see what kind of reaction you get. (I am speaking, of course, to my non-Kiwi audience here.)

bludger - Not to be confused with the position player used in J. K. Rowling’s Quidditch game in her brilliant Harry Potter novels. The bludger I refer to is also known as a deadbeat or loafer, somebody who makes a living off of handouts. This is the person who is ‘on the dole’, or welfare as well call it in the States.

bogan - It is hard to believe I have now posted four dictionary ‘volumes’ and failed to include this term so far! Put mildly, it is someone who is unrefined and from a poor, lower-class upbringing. Tends to favour heavy metal, black clothing, souped-up cars and male bogans often have mullets. What a bogan is took me a while to figure out exactly, as we do not necessarily have the direct equivalent term back in the States. There are definitely American bogans, of this I have no doubt, only we don’t refer to them as such. If there is an equivalent Yank term for bogan, please enlighten me. Redneck and white trash don’t count, as they carry a more negative connotation and bogans are looked at less antagonistically here.

One of the funniest things I’ve seen lately was on television and the news announcer was pointing out the annual “Running of the Bogans” ritual, inspired by Spain’s Running of the Bulls. They had footage of the very first fans to enter the stadium for this massive outdoor concert held in Wellington over Easter called “Rock To Wellington”. We had KISS, Poison, Alice Cooper, Ozzy Osbourne and lots of other hair band and metal acts. The very first fans were all bogans, and you saw various mulleted dudes clad all in black (obligatory heavy metal T-shirt, black shorts, black socks, black shoes) sprinting in rather unathletic fashion for the very front row, where they would tenaciously and at times viciously hold sway for the entire duration (just ask my friend Holly, who survived more than a few tilts with the bogan crowd).

cooee - An odd term, and its origins are Aboriginal, from an extinct dialect as I found out from ‘researching’ Wiktionary. I’ve seen this term in print lately, haven’t heard it said, but it is used to describe an attention-getting call, and the context both times I’ve seen it involved trying to attract certain influential or important people to a cause.

different kettle of fish - The similar American phrase would be ‘different ballgame’ or ‘like comparing apples and oranges’. Another favourite phrase I’ve adopted, why don’t you go ahead and try it out? Spice up your lingo a bit! I’ll give you an example: Jack was never intrigued much by maths or sciences at school, but when it came to cars or girls, that was a whole different kettle of fish.

give it a bash/go/whack - Either bash, go, or whack, any of them work, and not to be confused with ‘giving someone the bash’, discussed below. Just as it sounds, really, and like many other Kiwi phrases it has slowly replaced the similar American ones I used to use. So now I’m often ‘giving it a go’ as opposed to ‘taking a shot’.

give someone the bash - To beat a person up, often just figuratively but certainly can describe the physical act. First heard this phrase used jokingly in the excellent New Zealand film, Sione’s Wedding, known to you Yanks as Samoan Wedding.

gone bush - Retreating to the hills or forest or just nature in general in order to live and function outside of modern urban society. Actually probably not to that extreme but is used to describe when someone is on a fishing, hunting, mountaineering or extended tramping trip. Could also refer to someone who has recently undertaken an outdoorsy-type lifestyle.

gormless - Unintelligent and clueless about it, often as applied to a certain situation like someone being taken advantage of but not really smart enough to pick up on it, let alone act upon it. I love this one. It's just one of those great words that sounds so very much like what it's describing.

goss - Short for ‘gossip’. This one’s a no-brainer, but I’d never heard it said before. As in: So what’s all the good goss since I’ve been away?

have a go - Like running someone down, or taking a shot at them. Personal attacks, or maybe putting someone in their place. Usually done face to face, as opposed to sniping behind their back.

hen’s night/stag do - The former and latter both describe what we Americans know as bachelorette and bachelor parties, respectively. Don’t you like the Kiwi versions much better? I know I do, and I’m not just talking about the terms! OK, so I have yet to attend a ‘stag do’ but hopefully one day I’ll be a part of one. I’ve seen quite a few hen’s nights in progress when I’ve been out and about in downtown Wellington, though, and they sure know how to have a good time! In that, the Kiwis and Americans are both on a par, I’d have to say.

home time - As we Americans would (and love to) say it, “It’s quittin’ time!” Or perhaps, if you’re a child of the 70's as I am, “It’s Miller time!” Time to go home after a long day at work, in case you haven’t discerned the obvious already.

I'm rapt - Great word, never once heard it uttered in the States and I would love to see the reaction of my friends when I use this word next time I’m there. To be rapt means literally you are filled with delight and anticipation, and it probably came about as being short for ‘enraptured’. Heard said when someone is eager at the prospect of a new job, a visit from a friend, or looking forward to a date.

love to bits - Just another way of saying how much you love someone or something (in this case a lot), however sometimes it can be in the context of ‘I love him/her/it to bits, BUT...’ So it could be like saying that, at the heart of it, you do love what you are describing but there is something about it or them that drives you crazy or upsets you.

mate - As with the term ‘bogan’, I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without including this very important Kiwi term! Mate is a term of familiarity, used to either describe one’s friends or when talking to another person. Sam’s mates are planning his stag do and they’re really going overboard. That is one example of the usage of ‘mate’, and here is another: Mate, you don’t have to tell me twice! Or even the eminently simple: Cheers, mate. The American equivalent of that last one would undoubtedly be: Thanks, dude.

plonker - I actually first heard this word in an episode of the original UK version of The Office (when David Brent was saying that he wasn’t one), but to be called a plonker is definitely not a nice thing. A plonker is a bumbling idiot, a fool. Very similar to being a wanker, probably interchangeable terms.

rogering - Well, we’re all adults here, right? So this term, while not exactly X-rated, is a bit dirty. Refers to having sex, and usually rough sex at that, often preceded by the words ‘right good’. Ahem. Time for a cold shower, ay?

smoko - Man I just love Kiwi terminology, and this word is one of the many reasons why. I don’t even smoke, either, but something about their words and phraseology really appeals to me. Anyways, someone is having a smoko or on one when they are taking a smoke break. Invariably this is outdoors, as New Zealand is much like California in that you can’t smoke anywhere indoors unless it’s your own home. And even then, if you’ve got flatmates who aren’t keen on cigarette smoke, well ... It’s a smoko out on the porch for you!

sort - Ah, the wonderful world of sorting, as in, Right, I’ll sort you out, mate!, meaning you’re either jokingly telling your buddy you’ve had enough and are about to beat him down (not really), or you are about to start a brawl and are going to punch some guy (really).

Also, ‘sorted’ is often uttered when a task has been completed, or used to refer to said completed task. Or you and your friends, when discussing vacation plans to Rarotonga, plan to ‘sort it out’ over dinner later that night. Sort may not seem like such a terribly Kiwi thing to say, but my mum and my friend Kathy both picked up on my frequent usage of this word right away.

turn to custard - ‘When the sh*t hits the fan,’ as we might say in the States. Or, my own favourite, saying when things ‘go south’ in a hurry, things can be said to be turning to custard. Well I had dug the holes for the fence posts and had everything out and ready for finishing the job when it just started pissing down and it all turned to custard.

Te reo Maori

And I’d like to finish this edition with something new! In hindsight I wish I had started the other editions by including some Maori terms as well, for they are very much a part of the everyday New Zealand printed and spoken word. Te reo translates literally from Maori to mean ‘the language’, and this shorthand phrase is often used to describe the resurgence of this language in New Zealand culture. In 1987 Maori was made a second official language of New Zealand alongside English.

Since moving here I’ve absorbed many Maori words and phrases as well as pronunciations but by no means do I speak Maori. Every year it seems to me that more people are signing up to learn to speak and read Maori and this gladdens me as so much of their history and culture is tied up in oral tradition, especially when it comes to learning one’s whakapapa, defined below.

Aotearoa - Maori term for New Zealand. A condensed form of the phrase (“Ao tea roa!“) said to be uttered by the wife of the legendary explorer Kupe as they approached the shores of these islands for the first time. Literally translated, it means “Land of the Long White Cloud”. Beautiful, and fittingly so for such a glorious place. I learn a lot from my frequent strolls through the Te Papa museum! There is a serious movement afoot to have the country’s name changed to this officially, although how far that gets I am not sure.

iwi - Term for larger collection of Maori as a whole race or nation, broken down into smaller groups or sub-tribes such as hapu, on down to the smallest unit within a tribe, the whanau.

kia ora - Perhaps the most widely-known Maori phrase as it’s used heavily by New Zealand’s tourism councils. It is the Maori phrase for greeting meaning “Hello!”

ka kite - I like this one, it means “I’ll see you,” and I learned this one from my friend Karen. Also said as ka kite ano, the third term meaning “again”.

pounamu - Jade, or greenstone. Considered one of many taonga granted to the Maori by the gods when the land was created. My mum gifted me with a handsome pounamu necklace during her visit to New Zealand, an unexpected and overwhelmingly kind thing to do! It is considered bad luck (tapu, perhaps? See below), to buy such a necklace for yourself, so it is always best to receive it as a gift.

taonga - Treasure. Not just glittering gold and large hunks of pounamu, it also can and often does refer to artifacts and relics of cultural significance, such as a cloak made entirely of kiwi feathers worn by a powerful chief. I’ve seen just such a taonga on display at Te Papa, by the way.

tapu - Taboo, forbidden, sacred. Refers to a person, place, or thing, used to protect someone or something from harm in its many forms.

whakapapa - Important cultural and specifically family generational history recited orally by an individual Maori. A powerful and important rite of passage is to be able to recite one’s whakapapa as far back as 25 generations or more. It is more than simply reciting ancestry, as Maori believe this traces them all the way back to the gods who gave rise to all living things, so even trees and rocks and water have their very own whakapapa. Obviously I don’t have this concept mastered, but that’s basically what it is in crude fashion.

whanau - The family, meaning both one’s immediate and extended family. I should mention here that the wh combination of letters is pronounced as an f, so whanau would sound like ‘fa-now’. Also, while I’m at it, te is pronounced ‘tay’, and it means “the”. Today I'm free, but tomorrow I'll be spending all day with the whanau.

These are obviously just a few of many Maori terms and phrases, more of which I hope to learn as I go along. If you’d like to learn a bit more on your own, check out these two helpful links, the last of which is a very good Maori-English dictionary:

Maori Language Commission

Maori-English Dictionary

Right. “That’s it! That’s the list!” to once again quote one of my idols, Tony Kornheiser.

New also to this fourth instalment of my Kiwi-to-English dictionary is the dreaded Homework Assignment! Yes, you’ve been sponging free vocab lessons off of me long enough, so it’s time to go out and put that new knowledge to use!

I challenge you to use any one word from any of the four editions of this so-called dictionary in your every-day usage sometime in the next week. You’ve only got to use one word - of your choosing! - and only do it once. And you have a whole week, so there is no pressure! Being the kindly teacher that I am, I’ve provided links to the other dictionaries near the beginning of this post.

N.B. - Using the words when talking to your pets does not count. Partial credit may be given, and extra credit certainly will be for startlingly creative uses of said words or especially for multiple and repeated usage!

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*A little something for all you slasher-flick fans.

Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!And down to Welling-townYou go, my lad!

2008-05-11T13:00:00.004+12:00

Far over the Misty Mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away ‘ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold.*

Again, I am miles away from breaking this story in any way shape or form, but I must write about how excited I am that Peter Jackson and (presumably) Weta Studios got the final go-ahead to start filming The Hobbit here in New Zealand. All is basically as it should be, with Jackson and partner Fran Walsh behind the scenes as executive producers. One of my favourite directors has been appointed to the helm, one Guillermo del Toro, he who also directed both Hellboy films, Pan's Labyrinth and Blade II. (In related news, del Toro is also signed up to do a remake of H.P. Lovecraft's At The Mountains of Madness in 2010, so I am very keen on this as well). Also, two key re-signings for this next Middle Earth movie are the actors Sir Ian McKellen and Andy Serkis, cast again as Gandalf and Gollum, respectively.

But then, you probably already knew all of this! Since I am lucky enough to live in Wellington, that means I'll be in "Hobbit Central", at least as far as where most of the cast and crew base themselves for the 18-24 months it'll likely take them to shoot these films. You see, and this is something else you also probably already knew, they're actually doing two films, not just the one. At first I thought they were going to split the Hobbit story itself into two films, which in my opinion could be easily done as there's lots of story to go around. Rather, they are doing all of The Hobbit in the first film (hopefully it will clock in at four hours - bring it!), and then they are going to do a second film that covers the gap of 60-odd years between the end of the story of The Hobbit until the beginning of the story of The Fellowship of the Ring.

Now, I'm no avid student of J.R.R. Tolkien's works, having only read the Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit a few times over the years, as there is a staggering amount of further material Tolkien created regarding his Middle Earth, including the entire language of the Elves to say the least. I do not think there exists a book that was written by Tolkien to cover this particular gap between his stories, so it will be very interesting to see where they go with it.

I'm sure that the most die-hard of Middle Earth fans have more than a few strongly held opinions about what should and should not be included in such a work, and I hope that the producers and directors involved in these film projects pay them some attention. After all, if nothing else, this is the very fan base they are courting and counting upon, albeit to less of a degree than they were prior to the release of Fellowship - now that these films set in Middle Earth have a wider fan base than they ever did. Plus, I think The Hobbit has always been the most popular and accessible of the famous works of Tolkien. So I guess they could cut a little fast and loose with the story-making for this second Hobbit film and damn the consequences regarding Tolkien's staunchest fans' opinions on the matter.

No matter what, I know I am eager to see how it all plays out and I am going to do my best to see as much of the movie sets as possible, once the film-making begins. While much of the location shooting for the LOTR trilogy occurred in and around Wellington, obviously not all of it was shot here. Among other things, I am very curious about what will serve as Lonely Mountain, one of the most compelling locations described in anything I've ever read. I am also thinking they will go back to the original Shire, which was up in the Waikato, specifically in Matamata. It's only a few hours away so no matter what, if and when the Shire becomes open to the public for a viewing, then I'm there! Can you say 'road trip'?

One of the nurses I work with rode her horse and was in costume for one of the many battle scenes in one of the LOTR movies, and her dad actually made it on screen a few times as an extra for Peter Jackson's King Kong. Andrew and Pete, two vets I work with, both served as on-site veterinarians for a day of filming for Peter Jackson's films in the past, so if I am even luckier than I already have been, I may be able to land a spot as an extra in one of these Hobbit movies. If I don't - and I don't expect to! - it certainly won't be for lack of trying.

But as your faithful man on the street here in Wellywood, I will endeavour to get you some good bits of goss regarding the filming of the two Hobbit movies, and maybe even a picture or three of a set, should they allow it! There's bound to be more than a few celebrity-sighting opportunities downtown, but I'm not going to be an obnoxious tourist should I see anybody famous.

All I can say is that I will try and emulate this guy’s devotion and tireless efforts in regards to finding his lost wedding ring. I'm so glad this particular story had a happy ending, and I thought it was a natural and humourous tie-in to the recent news of Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Weta Studios landing the Hobbit project.

Well, I'll put in the same kind of dedication and focus as he did finding his ring to covering the filming. But I ain't spending no $1500 for anything!

That is, unless you count up the number of coffees and train tickets I'll have consumed along the way ...
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* Used without permission from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. Do yourself a favour, and buy a copy today and read it before the movie comes out!

Thar she... thaws?

2008-05-03T13:20:00.000+12:00

Well my Brooksie faithful, I owe you an apology.

You see, almost exactly a year ago, I (in my eternal geekiness) got quite excited at the news of a very large squid that had been caught off the shores of New Zealand's south island in the Ross Sea. Not only was it cool (to me, anyways) because this was the largest colossal squid ever landed, but it reminded me once again how little we know about the vast 'inner space' contained within our oceans. Judging from the sizes of some squid beaks recovered from the stomachs of whales, and now comparing to the size of the beak of said squid above, there are even bigger ones still out there.

This squid was brought aboard the vessel in nearly pristine condition and, once ashore, was promptly put on ice at none other than my favourite museum, Te Papa. There it was to wait until the global scientific community had all been alerted and could coordinate their schedules and line up the appropriate research projects so that they'd all have a crack at this leviathan once she thawed out. Because, once thawed, she would have to be studied in her entirety as the squid would not then be able to be re-frozen and re-thawed like some reusable ice pack.

This past week she has finally been dragged out of deep freeze and allowed to thaw, and all week teams of scientists from around the world have descended upon Te Papa in Wellington to study her. And it turns out the squid is indeed a she, as they soon found out among other interesting things, such as the fact that her eyes are the size of footballs.

Now that's one big Mesonychoteuthis!

You can follow the fascinating (I think so, anyways!) developments here at Te Papa's site devoted to the subject. As you can see, soon the general public will be able to go to the museum to see the squid up close, suckers and all.* I can't wait to see how they conduct the presentation, as this is the sort of subject that I find very interesting indeed! I'm a scientist by trade, specifically in the animal sciences, so it's in my wheelhouse. This is also the stuff of ancient sailors' legends from many different cultures, not to mention pop culture such as the big squid featured in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea.

Speaking of which... man do I really miss that ride at Disney World!

Anyways, I am apologising because I failed to write about this nearly a year ago when I had originally intended to. Had I done so, I could have 'scooped' this in the blogosphere at large, yet my lackadaisical approach to the field of Investigative Casual Tourist Reporting means that I have buried the lead in my slowly growing file of 'draft' posts!

Then again, I am not really a tourist here anymore. I am a local! And as such, I think I'll be heading on down to Te Papa as soon as they've got that squid all prettied up and put on display.

From what I've seen so far, everything our museum does is top-notch, and I can't think of a better place to have had the good fortune to display the world's largest landed colossal squid than Te Papa.
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*I am not, of course, referring to the members of the general public as suckers here! I'm talking about the ones on the squid's tentacles, natch.

Now that's a long-distance dedication ...

2008-04-21T12:01:00.001+12:00

Ever since I saw the NBR New Zealand Opera's excellent production of Turandot last year, for which the Vector Wellington Orchestra provided the music, I have been wanting to see an orchestra perform on their own. I was highly impressed with their performance on that night. Wellingtonians are fortunate enough to not only have an active and well-funded opera company, but to also have two outstanding symphony orchestras.

So it was a few weeks ago that I wandered into Wellington and passed by the Michael Fowler Centre. As I was waiting for the light to change, I realized I was standing right next to one of Ticketek's main outlets, this being the only one that handles all of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra's events, apparently.

I stepped inside their office and asked about NZSO's upcoming shows. What didn't strike me until later was that I didn't ask - or seem to care - what the show was, exactly. So enamoured of their music was I that all I wanted to know was when they were playing again and, if it fit my schedule, I would automatically go.

After a bit of give and take with the ticket girl I finally found a date when I could go, and that date was last Friday night. Not until I got to the event did I realize what I was in for as out of blind luck I had chosen quite a special occasion.

It was at the Wellington Town Hall Auditorium, an imposing and majestic tan building with a beautiful interior. The spacious ceiling offered great acoustics and it seemed like it was made just for the symphony. The seats were all quite comfortable, too, and I hope to be seeing the NZSO perform here again some day.

The purpose of this concert, which is part of the Explore Antarctica festival going on right now, was two-fold; first it was dedicated to the late Sir Edmund Hillary. The second was that it was for all the New Zealanders currently serving at Scott Base on Antarctica, a site where Sir Ed was part of the very first winter-over team.

The performance consisted of three movements, during the first of which a steady montage of images of Sir Ed passed on the screens above. This piece was the Suite from Scott of the Antarctic, by Vaughan Williams, and it was heartfelt. The nearly sold-out audience was quite caught up in the orchestra's mastery, as was I.

Between the first two movements the NZSO took a break after welcoming its new conductor to the crowd. The mucky-muck in charge of the whole shebang took the stage and thanked all of his sponsors and then explained the night's performance. Finally! Even though I didn’t need a particular reason to go see the NZSO play, it was nice for the evening to have such a unique context.

The day prior to this show, the last plane for four and a half months had come and gone from Antarctica, so the remaining scientists and staff at the base were just now preparing to dig in for a long winter on the bottom of the world. It is worth noting that the United States' own McMurdo Station sometimes works closely with New Zealand's Scott Base so a few of the Americans from McMurdo were in attendance as well.

In attendance at Scott Base, Antarctica, that is. This show was being simulcast to those stranded (voluntarily, of course) down there so it was a pleasant surprise for me (the only one in the audience not in on it until now, probably) to learn that these brave souls on the bottom of the world were part of the audience.

There was a live telecast from one of the members of the research team who gave a speech thanking the NZSO for their support. It was followed by a montage of several of the other staff down there showing the rest of us a bit of what life is like so far down the globe. Lastly another of the staff gave a warm toast to the NZSO and ultimately, Antarctica itself.

They then gave us their own rather humorous performance with their New Zealand “Sympathy” Orchestra in tribute to the 'real' NZSO. It was great and, in Kiwi fashion, very tongue-in-cheek. They even had their own home-made triangle, a gigantic one which seemed to be large pieces of welded iron pipe, clanged expertly and only once by one of the three 'musicians' that wielded it.

After much laughter and applause, it was back to business as usual but it was cool knowing that we had a distant yet appreciative crowd in Antarctica as part of the audience.

For the second movement a tall thin man returned to the fore of the stage with the conductor. It turns out this was Paul Whelan whose voice formed the centrepiece of the second movement, called Terra Incognita and this was its world premiere. It was written with Mr. Whelan in mind, and he and the Orchestra were backed up by the awesome Orpheus Choir. To this novice symphony-goer it sure seemed to me like the conductor got the most anyone could have gotten out of that very talented ensemble of voices.

I was seated five rows back, to the right of and behind the conductor. The large choir stood in two separate sections on the stage above and behind the musicians, so one bank of singers seemed to be staring straight at me although of course their rapt attention was focused solely on the conductor. It just gave this movement a neat effect, as if the choir were singing directly at me.

There was a 20-minute intermission after these first two movements. Yet, without a program and not having the cash to pay for one, I had to sheepishly ask one of the very nice usherettes if that was it or was there going to be more. She told me it was just an intermission but it was honestly hard to tell because as soon as it began a fair number of people made a beeline for the cold air outside. I guess they were probably the smokers in the crowd!

The third movement was Maxwell Davies’ Symphony No. 8 Antarctic Symphony and it was also good but this one did not use the Orpheus Choir. It was a more stark number than the first two, as its obvious focus was on global warming and the melting, splitting and breaking up of several large parts of Antarctica. That this is happening more and more lately was demonstrated just last month by the partial collapse of a huge Antarctic ice shelf.

The music certainly fit the theme, with sudden shrill outbursts, I suppose mimicking the spontaneous cracking of large sections of ice. Superimposed on images of melting ice and flowing rivers of snowmelt were sped-up movies of moving cars numbering in the thousands. There were also ominous images of oil refinery smokestacks, burning away endlessly amidst a backdrop of melting ice.

This symphony was expertly performed, including a frenzied conclusion that seemed to be flawlessly pulled off by the musicians, but I didn't enjoy it as much as the first two movements. It was harsh and jarring - purposefully of course - but its sobering effect took off some of the glow I was feeling earlier.

Plus, I missed the presence of the Orpheus Choir!

Yet just as Turandot spawned a desire for me to catch the NZSO on their own, so now has NZSO ignited a yearning in me to see the Orpheus Choir in a future performance.

So as my ‘matryoshka doll’ style of interest in the arts keeps going, I’ll be sure to find something else to experience after the choir and I can’t wait to find out what that is!

The Facts in the Case of Maximillian, cont.

2008-04-16T16:31:00.000+12:00

Part Deux: "I ain't 'fraid of no ghost!"

I returned to the hospital the next morning and, after much anxious debate amongst the staff, Veronica was 'volunteered' to call the missing cat's owner and give her the troubling news about her escaped cat. Well, it turns out this woman is the Nicest Woman On Earth as she was beyond understanding about her cat getting away from us. She even felt bad for us and how distressed we must be about having lost him!

I know that between the two of us, Debbie and I had a grand total of two hours' sleep the night before, complete with waking nightmares. I can't think of many worse things to have to tell an owner than "I hate to tell you this but your perfectly healthy and happy cat that was boarding with us has somehow escaped and we have no idea where he is or how he is doing. Super sorry!"

Bleh, as much as that sucks, truly the last thing you want to hear regarding your boarding pet is that it died unexpectedly during its stay.

Still, our current situation was less than copasetic, as you never know how people are going to take this kind of news. I know how I'd take it: Not well. I'd not be upset with the staff because accidents happen and if I could see they were making a concerted effort to find my missing pet then I would certainly be reasonable. But I'd still be distressed. Thankfully this sort of thing happens rarely, in my experience.

Anyway, the cat's owner came that day to pick up her dog, who had also been boarding with us and thankfully had not managed to escape his run - we didn't need a freakin' Milo and Otis situation on our hands! He was the missing cat's good buddy, so I had hoped his continued presence in his indoor-outdoor run would serve to lure his feline friend back. So far, not so good.

The dog went home with his exceedingly kind mum that day, who then returned to spend a good part of her day trolling the neighbourhood, mixing calls of "Maximillian!" (our missing cat's name) with avid shakes of his favourite food tin.

She had no luck, and neither did we as Debbie and Veronica had already posted 'Wanted - Lost Cat - Reward!' signs up around the neighbourhood and we all had a look for him before work started. We joined the search after work as well. Max's owner had brought in a picture of Max the previous day, which we used for our poster as well as for posting his furry mug on the glorious (and free!) website, Pets On The Net. However slightly, it would serve to increase our odds of having someone find Max and catch him for us, if not give us a hot lead as to his whereabouts.

I was still to come back to the clinic that night for the same ailing cat, and once again there was no sign of Maximillian as I had another look round. Even Tabitha made a quiet entrance into the courtyard that night, perhaps having resigned herself to the fact that I'd not be swayed by her beseeching glances to let her inside for a catnap. She was still sitting by the back door staring at me as I left, so Tabitha is nothing if not persistent.

Sunday went much as Saturday had: Maximillian's owner being beyond generous and sympathetic, spending her day searching for her missing cat (in the drizzling rain, no less), we staff coping with our frayed nerves and trying not to lose hope that Max would ever turn up. So facing dwindling prospects regarding Max, a growing deficit of sleep, and the lingering presence of my sick hospital cat*, I returned for yet another night at the clinic on Sunday.

As I had finished treating our sick hospital cat (who would eventually succumb to his disease, the poor soul), I was once again shutting off the lights when another awful, heart-stopping crash came from outside, just like the other night.

"Dammit!" I muttered under my breath. Whatever else, Tabitha was keeping me on my toes at night and giving me a little comic relief with her hopelessly persistent attempts to crash the gate, as it were, and get inside.

Because it had to be Tabitha, right? There was no way it could be a ghost. No sirree, there was no way I was letting my overly active imagination take me there. Not in all that darkness, with my heart pounding so loudly, absurd recollections of horror stories penned by Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft swirling unbidden through my consciousness.

Too much television lately? Hell, I'd been reading too many stories!

This time, as I crept stealthily to the security panel inside the back door, I noticed a little black silhouette sitting just outside. Tabitha usually made a beeline for the front building's door, but maybe she was upping the ante with this more direct approach.

This silhouetted cat, upon seeing me, began meowing excitedly and standing up on its hind legs, pawing at the door - also odd for Tabitha, who was usually more Jedi-like with her frequent attempts to get inside.

And it was also the wrong building... Dare I let my hopes escalate? Grinning, I flicked on the outside light, only to behold --

Maximillian!

There he was, the same plump grey and black tabby from the yard the other day, standing on his back legs and begging to be let inside. It had been raining so he was damp and cold but other than that he looked no worse for wear.

As quick as I could manage, I spun open the lock and flung open the door.

Still meowing, but now uncertainly, Max hesitated at the door, even backing up half a step as if he was about to bolt away.

Quickly I began calling to him and encouraging him to step inside. He was not going to get away from me now! Losing him twice in one weekend was not on, even if I had to slog through rain and mud to tackle him in the yard outside.

Not that catching a cat in the dark would ever be easy...

But my good luck continued as Max hesitated for only a few seconds before launching himself inside. I quickly shut and locked the door and turned on the inside lights.

Max was really back and now he was safely inside. He meowed to me with his every breath, as if telling me in a rush about his harrowing journey and up-til-now unsuccessful attempts to get back to the hospitality of his warm and cosy indoor cat run. He was probably also asking why the hell we locked him out and, perhaps, where in the world his canine buddy had gone.

Max never let me out of his sight, nor was he out of mine, as he excitedly ran right next to me up and down the halls as I got together a fresh litter box and food dish for him. If there was a counter nearby, he leapt up onto it and continued his chatter, gratefully accepting the pats that I was all too happy to give him.

Exulting, I opened the door to the cat ward, opened the door to the biggest cat cage I could find, and then, quite happily and quite resolutely, stuffed Maximillian into his cage. Never have I closed and locked a cage door so fast!

I took one final triumphant stare at the happy grey and black tabby on the other side of the glass, watching him gorge himself on food and water, when a thought occurred to me:

"God, I hope it's the right cat."

But it was! And I was 99.9% sure of that at the time, but the truth would not come until the next morning, when his overjoyed mother would come to finally take Max home.

He had one final meow or two of thanks for me (I like to think that's what he was 'saying' at this point) and then tucked back into his biscuits.

Checking for the fifth time that Max's cage was securely locked (it was), I then exited the cat ward (firmly closing the door behind me), the rear building (firmly closing and locking the door after achieving 'Full On' status), and finally the courtyard (which I could not lock, but believe me, I wanted to).

Blissful sleep came quickly that night. Lucky breaks will do that for you.

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* Were it not for this cat's presence and his wonderfully dedicated owners, we would certainly not have this story.

The Facts in the Case of Maximillian

2008-04-14T22:13:00.000+12:00

It had been a hectic Friday at the hospital where I work. I was a bit more exhausted than usual at the end of this week because I also happened to be on duty for the weekend. As it was now the end of my shift, I was looking forward to getting home and relaxing a little bit before the weekend began.

The practice consists of two buildings separated by a covered walkway. There is an exercise courtyard between the two buildings which is completely fenced in from the outside. I was heading through the back door of the front building on my way to the back when two things happened at once.

The first was Debbie, who was inside, asked me a question as I opened the door. And the second thing was that I noticed, with detached curiosity, that there was a grey and black tabby cat sitting in the corner of the yard.

Normally, there is no cat there.

That is, unless it is our clinic cat Tabitha, who is a white and grey tabby. This was not her and this little guy was just sitting there happily grooming himself as if he owned the place. He was rather plump and had a healthy glow to him, so he certainly seemed to have an owner. Given that there is a plank ramp on one side of the building for Tabitha to use to get into and out of the back yard when the clinic is closed, it was not at all shocking to think there could be a strange cat lounging in our backyard. This cat certainly didn't seem distressed or up to no good, but still I was briefly taken aback at seeing him there.

I suppose that the combination of my mild surprise at our feline interloper, Debbie's distracting question and my heading into the back to do something else - all occurring at the end of a day when my mind is tired and distracted and thinking of home - is why I didn't speak up like I wanted to and say, "Huh, that's interesting - there's a strange cat in the yard!" to Debbie.

I was being too polite to interrupt her as she was in another room and could not see me or the cat, and I was also too scatterbrained (more than usual) to remember to mention this cat's presence to her in another minute or two.

So it was that I went into the back, did whatever I had gone to do, came back up front, ditched the stethoscope and lab coat, grabbed my car keys and headed for the door... and completely forgot to mention to Debbie about the cat being out there.

That's when she said it.

"There's a cat missing from the cattery," Debbie said quietly, her face evincing much concern.

I stopped dead, instantly consumed with a mix of emotions. Exasperation, as I was immediately certain that the grey tabby from a few moments ago was the very one who had now obviously made his escape. Irritation, as I realized that I could have caught the little bugger had I not been so absentminded. Chagrin, as I realized this is certainly one of a pet owner's worst nightmares whenever they have to leave a beloved pet behind in the care of others. Panic, as I realized that we were these 'others' who had now misplaced one fat and happy housecat. Anger, as I realized that whoever had left the cattery door open was neither Debbie nor myself and their weekend of luxurious relaxation had already begun!

"What do you mean... 'missing'?" I asked, stalling for time and trying to get a grip on my emotions.

As if somehow, Debbie would then say, "Oh, Brandon, I was just pulling your leg! He's just gone home is all. Have a great weekend! Haha."

Eh, nope, not exactly.

Debbie then went on to explain how his cattery door was wide open (and these cattery doors are nigh-impossible for even the cleverest and most persistent of cats to jimmy open), the cat in question was nowhere to be seen (well sorta, heh), and all three doors in the cattery meant to be closed and at least keep escapees inside were also left wide open.

These were truly bizarre circumstances - and vexing as hell.

After trying to get in touch with the owner (unsuccessfully - she was in Australia but due back in town the very next day) we searched around the yards and the clinic, and then continued searching the neighbouring streets but without any luck. It was so aggravating to be looking for this poor cat who not five minutes ago was a few strides away from me but had now melted into his surroundings.

As it was, there was a rather sick kitty in the hospital with us at the time, so I had already planned to come back to the hospital later on that night to check on him and administer some more treatment. So I'd have an extra chance to maybe see our escapee come wandering back, looking for his dinner. It was a thin hope, at best, as there were lots of houses in the vicinity and as most New Zealand cat owners let them freely go outdoors, it was likely there were also plenty of cat food bowls in nearby yards of which our fugitive could avail himself.

So that night, around eleven, I returned, did a brief scouting around, treated my patient, and began to lock up. With no sign of the unintentionally stray boarder, I shut the lights inside the back building and began to walk down the darkened hallway to the security panel.

Just as I hit the lights and took a step, there was a sudden loud crash from the courtyard outside. I froze in my tracks, waiting for my heart to stop pounding so I could listen for any more noises.

There were none, so I cautiously made my way to the panel, activated it, then stepped out into the darkened courtyard. The only sounds were the now-muffled mechanical beeps of the security panel behind me, menacingly ticking off the seconds until the alarm would become 'Full On'.

My eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and I could just make out a tiny little silhouette at the back door to the front building.

I flicked on the courtyard light to see who this was, not allowing my hopes to get up too high that it might be our dear missing boarder.

Recognition came instantly: It was Tabitha! Our clinic cat, she of the rapidly-fattening belly, was sitting at the door shooting me expectant and pleading glances to let her inside.

The little gremlin had crashed over the gate into the courtyard and onto one of the rubbish bins, toppling it over and creating the ruckus that made me think it was curtains for me.

Realizing that I've been watching too much television, I walked over to Tabitha, patted her and noticed that the outside food dish of hers was still half-full. I realized she was much more keen on a good night's sleep on her favourite chair inside, but we just can't have her setting off the motion detectors so it was to be the outdoor enclosed cat bed for her.

As for me, I went home, facing the uneasy prospect of trying to get some sleep while wondering what in the world we were going to tell this missing cat's owner in the morning...

What's this? A cattery without a cat? A night without any sleep? How will this story end?

Tune in next time, same cat-time, same cat-channel!

What It Be Like

2008-04-13T13:31:00.000+12:00

So my friend and former colleague Robb from back in the States has requested that I write a little more about what being a vet in New Zealand is like, particularly as it compares to the American experience of playing Dr. Herriot.

Robb's dad, Andy, was my boss the last six years I worked as a vet in the States, and he gave me a great environment in which to practice. I'm thankful for the time I had there and the latitude I was given by him, and I was also surrounded by great team mates. So it is the very least I can do to indulge this friend and former co-worker of mine with a post about all things vitnary!

Vetanary!

Veterinary!

There, got it finally, whew. Ironic that they don't teach you how to spell that particular word in vet school, no?

Anyway. First I'll speak generally as to what being a vet in New Zealand is like, and then I'll tell ya'll another little story.

Hey! I heard those groans. Don't worry, I promise not to turn this post into another mini-novella à la my prior entry regarding Tess the Wünder Dog (or Adventures Trapped in the Wheel Tread of a Large Crane).

Being a vet here is much like being a vet in the States. New Zealanders are just as compassionate about their animals as any people I've known and they are often willing to go the extra mile in keeping their pets healthy or trying to get them back to healthy status. It is quite common to see families with many pets and not just a solitary cat or goldfish. New Zealanders are also in general much more in touch with their agricultural roots when compared to my fellow statesiders. I mean this in that many of them live on 'lifestyle blocks' wherein they often have sheep, a few head of cattle maybe, some chickens, and a pig or three. Many Kiwis also favour horses as pets, and horseback riding and racing are more part of the mainstream culture here than modern America in general. Think of it as like moving to rural Virginia or Kentucky, in terms of what the animal-owning experience is like ‘round these parts.

As such, given the Kiwi propensity for all creatures great and small (come on now, you knew I had to work that phrase in there sometime!) the country's lone vet school, situated at Massey University in Palmerston North, turns out around 90 newly-trained vets every year. All of them, as far as I can gather, are trained for what we in the States would call 'Mixed Practice'. That is, they are pulling a ‘James Herriot’ in that they graduate ready to treat any manner of farm animal or domestic pet.

I have to say: I really admire this. For a brief time in my vet school tenure, I flirted with the notion of becoming a mixed practitioner. To give you a frame of reference, I would posit that a distinct minority of graduating American vets have tracked this in their programs. Overwhelmingly, most of them graduate having tracked 'small animal', or whatever, indicating their specialty is dogs and cats and perhaps even other household pets like birds, guinea pigs and rabbits. A good number of those that start out working in food animal or equine practices eventually migrate to small animal-exclusive practices, for a variety of reasons but chief among them better pay and lifestyle.

So you can see that given there is quite the diversity of animals to treat, it then follows that there is quite the abundance of knowledge on how best to treat them! One of my favourite phrases from vet school is "Real doctors treat more than one species", heh.

Which brings me back to my original point: I admire how every single Kiwi vet upon graduation is prepared to treat, well, everything.*

Granted, it is quite rare indeed for New Zealanders to own reptiles of any kind, and birds are a distinctly uncommon pet when compared to the American pet owning population. But rabbits, guinea pigs and the odd chinchilla are seen on a somewhat common basis.

I have found that surgical and medical techniques and the progression of those areas in small animal practice are on a par with what I've experienced back in the USA. There are frequent lecture series and online course opportunities for the continued learning that is so vital to maintaining good doctorly standards. There is also a large conference every year that rotates around Australia and New Zealand and it seems to rival the two best (in my opinion) American conferences, NAVC in Orlando and Western in Vegas.**

I have been quite happy to pretty well seamlessly integrate myself into daily private practice over here, doing what I did back home with very little adjustment.

Another positive about working over here compared to the States is the availability of certain drugs. Yeah, I know, that may sound bad but I am talking about drugs for my patients of course! Many of the new drugs that are developed for dogs and cats, of which there are thankfully a steadily growing number, are often first released down here Down Under. For at least a year or two the Kiwis and Aussies had first dibs at drugs like pimobendan and meloxicam, but I don't want to bore you with technical discussions of these medicines. I'll just say they are highly relevant drugs that we've needed for the dogs and cats and not only is it cool that we have them made for our profession but that here in New Zealand I am likely to be able to prescribe them first.

So, outside of the USA at least, I can appreciate the byzantine red-tape procedures the Food and Drug Administration has big pharma first endure before we vets get new therapies to use.

That being said, another vet I work with has said one reason for this is that New Zealand is sort of an ideal 'guinea pig' market, when compared to larger markets like the States. The population is smaller but still has a very progressive veterinary profession and pet-owning population, so their new drugs are likely to be tried and they'll be able to test the waters for a year or two before taking on the more stringent barriers the FDA has in place in the US.

That could sound bad, and I don't want to make it sound like they're unleashing drugs that cause scary mutations (like an ear coming out of one’s forehead - right, Roger?) or spontaneous combustion in our unsuspecting animals! I just do not believe that more hoops through which to jump necessarily equates to a safer product on the other end.

*cough* Vioxx *cough*

Now that the stage has been set regarding how the veterinary scene in New Zealand compares to the one I'm used to in the States, let me work my storytelling magic and get my writer on.

Eh, you know what? This post is already dangerously long, and the story is even longer. So I’m gonna give ya’ll a little break!

See ya mañana, maybe.

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*Except for you, dear human. Hell, given the Kiwi 'can-do, number 8 wire' attitude, though, I bet a Kiwi vet could manage treating a human quite tidily!

** Viva Las Vegas!

B³

2008-04-11T15:56:00.000+12:00

I just got an email from my uncle Barry and his wife Brenda. They came through Wellington over Easter weekend and were gracious enough to base their stay in this area around visiting with me. Not only did they treat me to dinner and dessert twice, but they also did me the courtesy of discovering a very cool spot for breakfast - right here in Upper Hutt! (They shouted for my breakfast there as well.)

Barry is a motorcycle enthusiast, especially regarding Harleys, and in the lounge where they were staying at the Totara Lodge he spied a brochure for a cafe that also rented out Harleys. Yes, any member of the public who fancies an afternoon spent atop a Hog (and who also has NZ$340 burning a hole in their pocket) can take one of these beauties out for a spin. Barry and Brenda were tempted, but given they had forked out over twice what they intended on spending on lodging in Upper Hutt, they had to decline.

Rather, we enjoyed an expertly-cooked full breakfast consisting of streaky bacon, eggs on toast, kumara wedges, and red potatoes with kiwi mint jelly. The weather was in the low 20s (Celsius, natch!) with no clouds and a brilliant blue sky. The cafe owners also have a cute but tiny garden through which you can stroll, and the hosts were all quite engaging. This cafe sits at the southern end of Upper Hutt atop a low range of hills that overlook the city. You access it via a winding, steep road and this, along with the fact that the cafe's owners do very little to advertise, made me feel a little better for not having discovered this place on my own after living here for a year and a half. I’ll certainly be heading back to the Blue Mountains Harley Cafe again someday soon.

Wanting to take full advantage of the weather and show off some of the highlights of Wellington, I took Barry and Brenda (B&B, here on in) on the Red Rocks Walk. While the weather was certainly obliging, making for a really nice walk, the seals sadly were not to be seen on that day. B&B didn't seem to mind, enjoying the views along the walk as well as our proximity to the sea (it was, like, right there dude).

It was also good to see the city council's plans for the Red Rocks Walk taking physical form, as the concrete has been poured and construction has begun on overhauling the old quarry headquarters situated at the beginning of the walk. Soon it will contain its own iSite, cafe, and souvenir shop, thus finally giving Red Rocks the showcase it deserves.

While I'm always a little leery of my favourite spots getting over-exposed and over-populated, I think this will do nothing but serve Red Rocks and make it a better experience - not least because there'll finally be a public lav right there! Up until now, it has been all-too tempting to take the phrase 'nature break' quite literally out there, as the round-trip walk most people take is 5 kilometres long. If you are anything like me, you often indulge in just such a walk after a morning coffee so, sooner rather than later, your bladder demands release.

Anyways, B&B and I (that would make up the 'B³' title of this post - clever, no?) returned to town for dinner. I took them to Monsoon Poon, an Indian restaurant where my classmates and I dined upon the completion of our Improvised Comedy class last year. Once again, the food and service were excellent, and we shared three different dishes which proved to be just filling enough for us. We had curried lamb, prawns, and chicken along with three different kinds of Indian bread, including roti and - my personal favourite - naan.

I made sure we all had room for dessert so I could take them to Strawberry Faire, a great spot for coffee, dessert and casual conversation right on Kent Terrace. We got there right as the proverbial bus let out, as it disgorged about thirty tween-age kids, all of them as excited as we were about our upcoming dessert. Busy as the Faire had suddenly become, the staff seated us and took care of us with ease in spite of the mad crush of patrons. It was my third time at Strawberry and each time I am left wanting for more, even though I am usually stuffed to the gills with coffee and either ice cream, chocolate, pastry or cheese and fruit. In my opinion, no trip to the city of Wellington could be complete without a stopover at Strawberry Faire!

I cannot remember the specific order of things in terms of restaurants where we ate or the things we did, so it may be that the above events happened on their last day here or first. It doesn't matter the order, though, as it was just great to catch up with Barry and Brenda. I had not seen them in almost exactly five years, since they visited my corner of the States for a small family reunion we held in Williamsburg in April 2003.

In fact it was during this very visit that I first began to seriously entertain the notion of one day visiting New Zealand. I had long harboured the desire to let my wanderlust expand to another country for I had only ever toured the States. As lovely as that was, I didn't want to just leave the country for a trip - say to Mexico or Canada or even Europe. I really wanted to leave and go somewhere very far away. When at dinner one night I saw Barry wearing a purple polo shirt with "New Zealand" in yellow script on the left breast pocket, I asked him the fateful (for me) question of how he liked New Zealand.

Instantly, Barry became animated with excitement and he began to regale me with tales of this faraway land. He and Brenda had gone for their honeymoon and it had been his second trip there overall - and he intended to go again as soon as he could. I heard all about the gorgeous countryside, the extreme fun one could have in it, and most of all about the New Zealanders themselves. Barry had nothing but nice things to say about them and he made it a point to tell me how much he thought I would like it there.

At this time I had just started dating the woman who would soon become my wife (and then soon after that, my ex-wife - but “that's a topic for another day and another cup of coffee,” as my boy Niles Crane would say), so the prospect of touring New Zealand held little appeal for me at the time.

It also wasn’t like ever since that moment I was gripped in a passionate, all-consuming obsession with plotting my trip - and eventual wholehearted relocation - to New Zealand. No, it wasn't anything like that. It was more like... now it was in the back of my mind. Somewhere, down one of the cobwebby dark corridors of my brain and inside the as-yet unopened room called ‘Foreign Travel,' an indicator light came to life on the instrumentation panel, right under the heading: ‘Destination'.*

No longer was I musing about Monaco, jonesing for Japan, barmy for Britain or pining for Paraguay. The 'Where to?' portion of my future international trip itinerary had been settled upon, and it would be New Zealand, mate.

The 'How in the hell...?' and 'Good lord, when?!' portions of said itinerary would come much later and be settled after much concerted effort, but let's not trifle ourselves on the details, eh?

So, in a very long and roundabout way (as is my style, don’t cha know), I have my uncle Barry - my dad's younger brother - to thank for being a significant part of a trip that has lead me to my new home: New Zealand.

Barry, if you hadn't worn that particular purple shirt to dinner that night, or - heaven forbid - if it had been a shirt from Arkansas, I may well not be here now!

Thanks for that, Barry, and thanks to you and Brenda both for coming down here and spending some time with me. It was great to catch up with you guys, and I'm glad the trip to Castlepoint proved worthwhile!

Please, enjoy the rest of your stay here in the Godzone. And come back soon, ay?

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*I'm not really a robot or a computer, by the way, I just liked this analogy.

END OF LINE

Thanks, Mum

2008-03-20T13:15:00.000+13:00

Well, my mum* has just wrapped up a 19-day trip here Down Under to visit me in New Zealand. As I type, she is probably seated on her Air New Zealand flight, the first of many such flights on her way home. The plane may just now be taxiing down the runway, and very soon she'll be in Auckland where she'll begin the next part of a very long day for her.

I've done this trip myself, going from Welly to Virginia all in one go, and it ain't easy. It'll be even harder for her, as I know she absolutely loved the countryside and people here in NZ (how could you not?). The grueling length of her trip - it amounts to 36 straight hours of traveling - can be quite punishing. The worst part for me is what happens from California onwards.

Once you touch down on the west coast of the USA, you've already been going for a good 24 hours already, unless you started out in Auckland itself. But like me she took a morning flight from Welly to Auckland, where she'll spend a good 6-7 hours waiting in the airport for the flight to the States. That then takes 12-14 hours, so when you arrive in sunny California (at the beginning of the same day all over again!), you have now gone a whole day and night without a shower. You have also been sitting in an enclosed metal tube breathing the same air as hundreds of other people.

So, there you are, in balmy SoCal, emerging from your plane looking just like... well, someone who's slept sitting upright after traveling all day on a plane. You've also spent much of that time schlepping your many heavy bags all over the show. You now commingle with the freshly-bathed and laundered masses infiltrating LAX, and they are all just at the start of their day's journey. You've had a 24-hour head start and it shows - in all the wrong ways.

Medic!

You long for a shower in one of the airline clubs' facilities, but unless you are a very frequent traveler, it is too steep an annual price tag to join. So you are stuck taking the 'poor man's shower' as you purchase a pungent stick-type roll-on deodorant from the pricey store inside the airport, slap that on along with a quick finger-brush of the teeth and perhaps a half-hearted attempt to part your greasy hair and then you re-enter the teeming, squeaky clean masses thronging the airport.

I'm not saying at all that there is anything bad about flying Qantas. Quite the contrary - I absolutely love their flights and look forward to that portion of my trip. Their seats and amenities (movies and TV shows at your seat - even stuff that's still in the theater!) are outstanding, not to mention their impeccable customer service. Their flight attendants are highly professional and go out of their way to make you feel right at home. They all exude a carefree and relaxed confidence that seems to rub off on you, making your stressful travel day much less so. They are the best airline I've ever flown with, and for me that's saying a lot because I am also quite partial to Southwest.

So I know how mum might feel, getting into LAX and having to go through Customs and then re-check all of her bags and juggle her carry-ons all while craving a shower and facing yet another day filled with nothing but airline travel.

Also, unexpectedly mum got some very bad news from home while we were in Dunedin: her and dad's beloved housecat, Dyna, had just been diagnosed with kidney failure. In a four-year old purebred cat who is predisposed to an awful set of kidney problems, this is pretty much a terminal diagnosis. The fact that she was just at the start of her trip and to now have to face the real possibility that the last time she saw Dyna before she left would in fact be the very last time she actually saw her is something that I know was extraordinarily difficult to face. I wouldn't wish that set of circumstances on anyone, and I know that it worried her every day. I feel equally as bad for my dad, as he was home alone with poor Dyna during all of this and had to go through the awful tasks of not only taking her to an emergency vet, but then to the vet school the very next day.

In this way I am sure the unbeatable beauty of New Zealand's outdoors and its people served as the most soothing of balms for mum's pains regarding Dyna. A couple of days later there was some relatively good news as Dyna was more comfortable after some treatment, and at the very least mum would likely have a chance to see Dyna again when she got home. That had to lift a little of the burden and to mum's credit however much Dyna's condition wore on her, she never let it show and she bore it with the utmost dignity and strength.

Also, I hope her ankles don't swell up again on the plane! I forgot to remind her to get up and stretch her legs every hour on the Qantas flight, but she will have an aisle seat so that should make that feat potentially much easier to accomplish.

HA! Get it? "Feat"? "Ankles"?

Yeah, I know, I know ...

Anyways, I hope mum had a great time while she was here. I know for sure I took her on a good tour of NZ's south island, as I had done most of this myself on a scouting tour I took of the south right after I had first moved to New Zealand. She first graciously spent a week with me in Wellington while I finished up work, living at the flat and having a chance to see a good bit of Wellington itself, not to mention Upper Hutt. She improved living conditions at my flat immensely by upgrading several things around the house including the garden, a new bird feeder, this cool rope thingy for hanging towels to dry in the bathroom, a new DVD player, a wallet (and cash!), and cooking great meals every night.

My friends Dave and Denise formed the Greatest Welcoming Party Ever by first picking mum up at the airport while I was at work (thanks again Dave - you're a legend!), then taking her on a lovely driving tour around Wellington's bays before bringing her by work to see me. On her last day in Wellington, they also invited us both over for Denise's birthday bash and toasted mum's trip to New Zealand. It was all heartfelt and deeply appreciated by both of us.

After a brief débacle involving mum locking herself out of the flat (thank God for locking screen doors and separate keys to those!), mum made herself right at home and got quickly to work doing what I think she looked forward to most about this trip - befriending my cats. Two of the three are quite shy with other people but before long they seemed to prefer her company to mine!

Well I sincerely hope mum enjoyed herself while here in New Zealand, and I know she was as overwhelmed by it as I was when I first came here. Honestly, to this day I continue to be impressed with New Zealand both by its stunning geography as well as its people. Taking this trip with mum was a great way to see her again and it helped me to realize all over again how fortunate I am to be able to live in this awesome country.

So, thanks for that, mum, and thanks for coming. I know you're on a plane home right now but I truly hope that one day soon you are able to come back and visit New Zealand again. Even more, I hope you can make the trip with dad as all that plane travel is something that would be very difficult for him. I like the options of you guys either taking a series of shorter flights over time to get here, visiting my sister in L.A. along the way, or taking a nice long cruise, putting in at ports all over the south Pacific. Life would be hard, wouldn't it?

Anyways, I miss you already, mum. (And so do the cats!) I miss you, too, dad and I hope that Tony Kornheiser and Mike Wilbon helped you pass the time with more great episodes of Pardon the Interruption.

Love, Bran

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* Now that my mother has officially set foot on New Zealand soil, she has earned the honourary Kiwi title for mothers: Mum!

Something for all you loquacious philanthropists

2008-02-25T20:15:00.000+13:00

G'day, my soul posse!

I'll get to the point of my title in a second, I just wanted to say that I hope everyone had a good weekend, for I sure did here. Started out Friday night going with my friend Sarah to see our very own Hurricanes eke out their first win of the Super 14 rugby season. It wasn't pretty, but they've just got to get the 'W', right? The timing of the Super 14 couldn't be more perfect, as it's been just long enough since the NFL has wound down that I'm starting to have withdrawal symptoms. I know rugby and 'gridiron' (as American football is called down here, which I think is very cool) are not the same thing, but they are certainly close enough!

For me, rugby combines some of the things I like best about soccer - continuous action, long halves, minimal coaching/true player improvisation - with some of the best things about gridiron, such as full-impact violence, rather high scoring and cheerleaders. In a way, I enjoy the rugby more than gridiron, mainly because it isn't so 'made-for-TV' with all the stopping and starting. That being said, I'll always be a huge fan of the gridiron, I just feel lucky to have rugby around so much and to have learned to appreciate it.

But what's this? American gridiron football - a whole league of it - right here in Wellington? Granted, a lowly number of people (200) saw their championship last weekend, but I was gobsmacked to see that gridiron was even played here in New Zealand! Good on ya, guys, and if this keeps up perhaps one day the NFL will be playing an exhibition game down here in New Zealand instead of London.

And if I had wheels, I'd be a bus. I'm not delusional, ya know! It's fun to dream, is all I'm saying.

I spent Saturday in town, the first half of which was my usual waterfront stroll, cafe crawl, small talk with the Kiwis routine - arguably my most favorite thing to do in New Zealand. I spent the second half assailing the steep roads to my friends' Simon and Sarah's house. A saner person would have driven all that way but I've been in the habit of taking the train into town lately. Plus I wanted to see pictures from Simon's remarkable climb up Mount Aspiring last month - this is no small feat, I can assure you! - and I hadn't visited them in a while.

After visiting with them and meeting Sarah's grandmother, I gladly accepted a ride back into town as they were on their way to Palmerston North to visit with more family. Since the walk back into town was all downhill (literally) I didn't think that hitching a ride would compromise the manliness of my earlier 'uphill stroll'.

Today I was back in downtown Wellington again, although for different reasons. Sundays are so great in New Zealand in part because of the great newspaper that comes out on this day: the Sunday Star Times. I mention it here because there was a funny article about Christchurch's new tourism campaign that you can read here. I love how self-deprecating the Kiwis can be, and perhaps I am still wearing tourist 'love goggles' even after 20 months Down Under, but I find Christchurch and nearby Akaroa to be very attractive destinations.

Then again, I've never been to Europe, and the line in the story "Why can't it just be 'Christchurch, it's quite nice'?" is just hilarious. And this is not an attempt to downplay any negative tourism stories about New Zealand in advance of my mom's visit here starting next weekend!

I know this post is getting long, so I'll finish with these two items:

First, the main reason I went into town today was to see one of the main plays headlining the 2008 New Zealand International Arts Festival. It was called Black Watch and it was one of the best things I have ever seen. In sometimes all-too visceral fashion, it felt very real. After today I felt as would an embedded journalist would perhaps feel, following a unit along in war-torn Iraq. The individual performances of all the actors were outstanding and the pacing was brilliant.

The play mixed a series of interviews (based upon conversations with real soldiers of the Black Watch who served in Iraq) with the surviving members of the squad with flashbacks, and the material was at times touching, poignant, hilarious and frightening. One of the highlights for me was how they told the story of the 300-year history of Scotland's Black Watch regiment: one of the main characters had a long monologue wherein his fellow soldiers would pick him up, spin him around, carry him aloft as they dressed and undressed him in the various uniforms worn by the Black Watch throughout history.

This performance is certainly not for the faint-of-heart but every single actor on stage was so focused and genuine it was worth the at-times punishing sounds. You would be hard-pressed to find a better ensemble than these guys. It was sold-out and they got a standing ovation - for a matinee, that says something!

Oddly, and I took it for a good omen, as the train pulled into the station, I saw that the actual cruise ship named the "Black Watch" was docked in Wellington Harbour. What a strange coincidence!

Finally, the other thing is the actual reason for this post's headline. I can't remember if it was in a recent edition of WIRED magazine or in the SST but I wrote down this website: FreeRice. For free (natch), you can test your vocabulary skills (or online dictionary searching skills) and for every correct answer you give, the website will donate 20 grains of rice free to the UN World Food Program.

So go on, check it out and see how high you can get your 'vocab level'. I got mine to 44 all by my lonesome but it goes all the way up to 55. In my session I ended up donating 3180 grains of rice.

Think you can top that? Make me proud! Get your 'SAT Verbal' thing on and help out a good cause.

It'll make ya feel all benevolent.

Kiwi-English Dictionary 3: In 3-D!

2008-02-21T20:20:00.002+13:00

Okay! It is high time for another installment of my Kiwi-English Dictionary. As the title above suggests, this is the 3-D version, so don those funky red and blue panelled cardboard sunnies, sit back, and enjoy the show!

What's that you say? You mean you didn't get your 3-D glasses in the Brooksie 2.0 Fun Pack I sent you? But... but... they were hand-made! This is a travesty!

The entire Promotions Department has just been sacked.

I know that cleaning house still doesn't get you your über-cool 3-D glasses, so I'll just have to disable that special set of code for this time around. I hope you still enjoy these definitions I've come up with as my KiwEnglish has improved since last we visited this topic, so it is time for an update.

(But oh man, I was hoping it'd be in 3-D, 'cause without that special effect, I'm afraid these just ain't that funny.)

See also!

Kiwi-English Dictionary the First

Kiwi-English Dictionary, Collegiate Edition

Kiwi-English Dictionary 4: The Final Chapter of The Return of the Dream Master

biro - slang for a pen, referred to as such for the inventor of the ballpoint pen, I do believe. I don't hear this very often, in fact the only two times I've heard it said (and I've been paying attention), it was uttered by delivery men. True story. I see this in print much more often than I hear it spoken.

brill - shorthand for brilliant, which until those Guinness commercials came on the past few years in the States, was primarily a Kiwi or British expression akin to the American 'cool' or 'sweet'. Or, for people who were alive in the 50s, this is like their 'keen' or 'swell'.

catch you up - nothing really special here, just another way of saying 'catch up with you', I just like this subversive, shorter version better! And it sounds 'cool' or 'brill' or (to my Alive-in-the-50s crowd) 'keen'.

dob - this is a verb, as in to 'dob you in'. You don't want to be dobbed in for anything, for it's just like being busted. As with not wanting to be the 'dobbee', you do not also want to be the 'dobber', for nobody likes a tattle-tale. Snitch!

does my head in - pretty much how it sounds, in that something 'drives you crazy' or even 'freaks you out'. So, if you like to complain a lot and are running out of synonyms, try this phrase on for size! Your overworked audience will appreciate the change, if only for a little while.

dosh - cash, moolah, money, coin. It's like combining 'cash' and 'dollah', I love it! The word as well as what it stands for! Well, at least I don't love money as much as this guy does:

everything goes in roundabouts - since we don't have many of these glorious gifts to our congested roads in the States, I can see why obviously nobody is saying this. It makes sense standing alone, but given all the roundabouts (traffic circles) evident in New Zealand, I am taking a semi-educated guess that perhaps that's where this phrase originated. It's corollary in 'American' might be 'Win some, lose some' or perhaps 'What goes up, must come down' based on the context in which I've heard it said.

...for Africa - when trying to describe something that is of an overly abundant quantity, or if you are just trying to exaggerate, then tack this on to the end of what you are saying. As in, "They had enough beer for Africa at that party!" or "You used enough cotton for Africa in that bandage!" Not that I've had that last thing said to me by any means. Nope.

hooning - love this word, it's just one that sounds like what it describes. A way of describing not only excessive but reckless speed, usually applied to cars, but I've also heard it used in relation to bikes, small children or even rambunctious puppies. "He came hooning round the corner there and plowed through the screen door! I ran after him in my jandals, chasing the little ratbag!" (Threw in some words from the older dictionary editions for ya there.)

how ya going? - the direct corresponding phrase would be 'How's it going?'. Interesting that the Kiwi one is more personal and direct, when compared to our vague 'it'. Although we do also say 'How ya doing?' but thanks to those brill(iant) Bud Light commercials, this usually immediately degenerates into a quote-fest displaying all the variations on this excellent theme (the nerdy white guy version, the Sopranos version, etc.) - at least in conversations in which I'm involved!

knackered - very tired, as in 'dog tired'. Beat, worn-out, exhausted. Comes from the British term for the guy, called the knacker man, who comes and takes dead livestock off the hands of the farmers. Yep, if you're due to be knackered, you must be very tired indeed! I already knew this one from my All Creatures Great and Small days, yo. James Herriot, you best recognize!

lose one's rag - when somebody goes completely 'mental' or 'loses it', they have officially lost their rag, like losing one's grip on reality. Much speculation exists daily as to the sanity of various celebrities (whose names don't need to be mentioned here - I mean, come on, how long do you want this entry to be?) and whether or not they've finally lost their rag. This also can describe not only the bizarre eccentric but also those throwing a particularly vicious temper tantrum, often at service people they feel have not lived up to their end of the bargain. "If they don't fix my car this time, I'm really going to lose my rag! It won't be tidy!"

mooted - being considered for something, as in "John Stewart is being mooted as the next president of the College of William and Mary," or "Vanilla Coke has been mooted as Brooksie's drink of choice." Haha, yeah right. There is no mooting there: Vanilla Coke is my drink of choice! But you see what I mean.

munted - um, 'not working as intended', i.e., shit-faced, wasted, drunk off your arse. You get the picture! Have also heard this describe things as well, as in 'That car's munted, it's not going anywhere!' Yes! Yet another synonym for 'drunk', and a particularly good one, I might add.

piece of piss - not to ruin this other phrase for you with this analogy, but is just like our 'piece of cake'. "I'm not sure I can get all that gardening done in one day." "Nah, it's a piece of piss, mate." Piss comes up a lot in KiwEnglish, as mentioned in past versions of this dictionary, so here it is yet again in all its glory. Quite a versatile word, don't ya think!

see how he/she goes - very like our 'Let's see how it goes' but again a more personal version with the Kiwis. Invariably later on down the line one would then be asked 'How ya going' after initially deciding to 'see how we go' (see above).

slapper - refers to a woman who has a reputation for getting around. Also synonymous with munter which should not be confused with the term 'munted', above. Definitely not a compliment. Quite misogynistic and it is a word I've only heard down here. Of course the American equivalent term would be 'slut'.

slash - a piss. Again with the P-word! But yeah, I like this synonym, it is a welcome addition to my vocabulary. Often said with 'off for a' as in, "I'll be right back, I'm off for a slash." As with my philosophy that you can never have too many phrases for 'to vomit' or to describe drunkenness, so too you can never have enough ways to describe taking a leak. Bleeding the weasel. Hitting the head. You get the idea!

stuff - as in, the action. Usually said when giving up on something, as in "Ah, stuff it, I'll finish this tomorrow." But it could also be used to describe making a mistake, as in "I told you to ask her out then but you waited too long and stuffed it all up." Can be considered a synonym for knackered but perhaps to a lesser degree, as in you might be just 'stuffed' before you progress all the way to being 'knackered'. Can also be quite a cutting insult, as I've rarely heard it spoken so far and when I have it's been pretty harsh. So, if you are told to 'get stuffed' you have indeed been told off, mate!

sunnies - sunglasses, shades. Kiwi-speak is great, isn't it? Sunnies just sounds so very positive, like the Kiwi's often 'sunny' disposition. Awww!
Ok, that's enough of that.

Well that's all the new terms I have written down for this edition. I hope you are enlightened and at least a little amused! And, uh, sorry again about the 3-D glasses not being sent out. When I get next year's budget together, hopefully I'll have enough for a second go at them!

Until then, I remain, your faithful

Brooksie

White Boy Pain

2008-02-15T18:27:00.000+13:00

This is just so unfair.

Stop me if you've heard this one: The story of the guy who unfailingly for years buys the same weekly lottery ticket numbers. Then, as luck would have it, he forgets to buy them just ONE time - and it just happens to be the time he would have hit it big with those very numbers! Sometimes this story has a rather grisly ending, and it's probably no more than one of many urban myths floating around out there.

The reason I bring this up is because something similar happened to me today. In the grand scheme of things, it is nowhere near as tragic as the above cautionary tale. But it is still galling and see if you agree!

As you may have gathered from my previous ~~bloviating~~ writing, I tend to have a wander through downtown Wellington on Wednesdays, my day off during the week. The day is pretty unstructured, and usually I try to end up experiencing something I haven't done on past trips into town, as there really is an awful lot to get up to in downtown Wellington.

Yesterday, however, was an exception. Instead of going into town (taking the train as I now do - it's all about being green, yo), I skipped on my trip to Welly and hung around the Hutt Valley instead. Oh, I was being productive at least: cashed a couple of checks, picked up my winning bet on the Giants from Super Bowl XLII (thank you, Eli!), mailed off some bills, tidied up the house a bit, etc.

But my productivity on this particular day off is hardly a soothing enough balm for missing out on THIS.

(You'll really need to follow that link to understand the rest of this story.)

Yes, it's none other than Jemaine and Bret performing live and downtown on Wednesday! Not downtown Lower Hutt, either: downtown Wellington!

And where was I? Idly sipping coffee in one of the Hutt malls, content with my lame day-off "Mailing of the Bills" or "Cashing of the Checks". Instead I could've been down there with Bret and Jemaine and seen them play live and even autograph my DVD of Flight Of The Conchords, Season One!

Now, I'm not going to get all "Mel" on you:

But I do love the show and have been sort of hoping these two guys would get up to some kind of public performance while they've been home in New Zealand, waiting out the writers' strike before beginning their second season of FoTC. Given my frequent haunting of Wellington, I kinda fancied the notion of being able to see them out and about somewhere, sometime.

That's as "Mel" as I'm like to get, though. I have never pretended to be out for a jog just outside of their flat or anything. (Please - do you know how hard it is to find out where celebrities live? It ain't easy, especially when you've got restraining orders out against you!*)

In my defence, this was a (mostly) impromptu performance, as the only people 'in the know' would have been those on the mailing list for the movie rental place where they set up their quick show. I am not on that list.

Second, I do not (usually) bring my FoTC DVD with me everywhere I go. (I'm still not Mel). So there would have been nothing for them to sign. Well, I could have tried to get them to sign my chest or something, but don't ya think having one restraining order out on you for that reason is enough?*

Finally, this particular video store is also way up Aro Street, which is usually a far cry from where I walk downtown, even though I do tend to walk all over. So odds are, I would not have been able to just stumble upon this event while it was happening.

We won't mention the fact that Jemaine and Bret stayed on for two hours after the gig, unfailingly signing anything and everything that came their way. So there could very well have been a word-of-mouth buzz going on in all the cafes and coffee shops downtown about their presence.

Oh, think of the cred I could have had if I could lord it over my fellow FoTC fans back home that I actually met Jemaine and Bret in their home town!

And had them sign my chest!

No, we won't be mentioning that.

So... how 'bout those Giants eh?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I keed, I keed!

Goodbye, Heath

2008-01-26T22:25:00.000+13:00

Well, I'm obviously behind on updating here, as it's now 2008 and I've yet to post.

I'll get back into that shortly, but I just had to write something about Heath Ledger's passing. He was one of my favorite actors of the past decade and although I've seen most of his performances the one I still liked the most was the first one I saw: his role as Patrick Verona in 10 Things I Hate About You.

It is hard to imagine him taking his own life, and from what I've read it sure seems like he was having a hard time getting sleep lately. Perhaps he just made the unfortunate mistake of trying too many of his different medications at once and paid the ultimate price. Whatever happened, it's a great loss to the entertainment industry and he is one of a handful of actors whose performances I was always interested in seeing.

This is a little absurd, but with HBO having the rights to George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series now, one of my casting hopefuls for one of the characters in the story was Heath Ledger as Ser Loras Tyrell.

But that is neither here nor there now, and there is no sense in wallowing. Of course it's not like he was family or a friend, but it is always a shame to see such a wonderful life cut short like this. So I'll just say goodbye to ya Heath and thanks for all the great acting. Here is one of my favorite scenes of yours:

Christmas with the Adams Family

2007-12-29T16:37:00.000+13:00

No, not that Addams Family. And yes, I am well aware this is my second post in a row that fronts a YouTube video.

More later on my great Christmas with my friends Simon and Sarah at Simon's aunt's house with much of Simon's family. For now, just check out this song. I know it's like four years old here now in New Zealand and I'm - as usual - way behind the 8-ball when it comes to new music. But for those of you back in the States who may not have heard this tune, check out the video above.

"Sophie" is a song by a Kiwi band called GoodShirt who unfortunately are not around anymore. In spite of that, this is one of my favourite songs that I've heard since moving here, and I've heard lots of great Kiwi bands so far. So that is saying a lot. I think you'll find it as catchy and groovy as I do, and the video is hilarious to boot!

Merry Christmas from the Brooksie

2007-12-25T21:01:00.000+13:00

To everyone who reads this, I hope that wherever you are, you are having a great Christmas. This is probably my favorite Christmas song, and there are many that I like. This one is tops in no small part because it is in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, my favorite Christmas movie! And while I am loving life here in New Zealand, including experiencing these balmy, sunny Christmas days, I do miss home more at this time of year than any other!

So for those of you in the northern hemisphere fortunate enough to have snow on this day, enjoy it and your egg nog (although not too much of the latter!), and for my mates in the southern hemisphere, I'll see you for a pint at the barbie!

Merry Christmas, everyone.

A Night at the Brazilian Embassy Theatre

2007-12-23T16:16:00.000+13:00

If you are a bit confused by the title, then you will know how I felt when I got a text from my friend Dana the other day. The gist of it went something like:

"They are showing a Brazilian movie at the embassy, would you be interested?"

I texted back that of course I would. I was thrilled as Dana, my Dutch friend who was in the Ginger Crunch performance with me, had just earned the right to stay on in New Zealand another two years. So this would be our first chance to catch up in a few months.

Anyways, I made the assumption that Dana meant there was a Brazilian movie being shown at the Embassy Theatre, where they held the world premieres for the Lord Of The Rings trilogies. So when Dana texted me back the next day confirming that we were, in fact, going to the movie, she confused me when she gave me the address where I'd meet her: Brandon Street. The Embassy Theatre ain't on Brandon Street!

Yes, there really is a Brandon Street in downtown Wellington, and I am long overdue in getting a photo of me standing underneath the sign - perennial tourist that I am!

But I should know better than to ever 'assume' anything, as it only makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'. Brandon Street is quite a long way away from where the Embassy Theatre is, so I figured that Dana must be working on that end of town and I'd meet her there and we'd head to the theatre together. Given the time she'd mentioned to meet up, however, I knew we'd be getting to the Theatre late!

So I show up at the address a little early, and step inside the building. Then I read the building's directory and it finally dawns on me: we were meeting at the Brazilian embassy where they would be showing a free movie! The actual "Embassy Theatre" across town didn't enter into it, except in that fictional notion I had that they would be showing a Brazilian movie there. With my thick mindset, I didn't pay any attention to the fact that the only two movies on last week at the Embassy were Hitman and Into The Wild.

Why I'm sharing my dimwittedness with you, I'll never know, except in the hopes that it gives you an idea of how much stuff is in Wellington and how easy it is to get confused here.

But it turns out the Brazilian embassy here in Wellington runs a wonderful yearly program of free movies. They even provided free wine, cheese and crackers for us! And I got a free T-shirt, simply because I was fortunate enough to be in attendance at their final film of the 2007 season. The embassy staff were quite welcoming and friendly and I'll certainly be headed back for a movie or two next year. If/when I ever make it over to my own United States embassy I'll have to see if they are doing anything this nice for the masses! If they are showing free American films, however, this could really backfire - depending on the film.

But that is another topic for another day!

The film on offer this day was called O Caminho das Nuvens or "Middle Of The World". A bit coincidental that it sounds similar to "Middle Earth", home to the hobbits?

Nah. It was an uplifting movie about a poor family's struggle across the vast expanses of Brazil in search of work and happiness. I'd recommend it to anyone as the performances were excellent and it's a nice window onto Brazilian culture. There were no hobbits in sight (not that they're ever easy to spot), but if you want your next hobbit fix then you'll have to wait until 2010 or 2011!

So I really enjoyed finding yet another way to enjoy Wellington, this time via the Brazilian embassy and their open-handedness with the plunder: free movie, food, wine and T-shirt! After the film Dana and I repaired to KK Malaysian on Ghuznee Street for yet another first for me, but for Dana this place is a regular stop. I had the fish curry and it was excellent, and we split an order of mussels as an appetizer and they were top-notch as well.

I'll be going back to all of the above places again in 2008, of this I have no doubt!

"Oh, you're from New Zealand! I'm a huge Lord of the Rings fan."

2007-12-14T18:59:00.000+13:00

Hi!

I'm back from the States and from semi-retirement from this blog. In the words of Inigo Montoya:

"Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

So, in no particular order (unless 'random' is an order)...

I get home to New Zealand and resume the much-missed habit of my 'Wednesday cafe crawl' through Wellington. Whilst on the way to one of my favourite haunts (Cafe Astoria), I know I'll be passing by my favourite place to buy clothes: Swanndri. I almost walk past it as it's down a side street, but it doesn't take me long to recognize the tell-tale triangular intersection near the store. So I double back and head down the side street, the familiar planter with the Swanndri logo painted on its side now in full view.

Yet as I get to the short set of stone steps leading up into the building, I see nothing but frilly summer dresses and women's shoes in the store window. I do a double take (which would've been a spit take, had I been drinking anything at the time) and look up for the Swanndri sign, and sure enough - it's gone. In its place is a sign for some frou-frou dress shop. Or shoes. Girly stuff. Definitely not Swanndri!

Swanndri is gone???

Say it ain't so, Joe.

Thankfully, the company is still around, and thriving from the looks of it although I'm a little uneasy that they've been bought out by a New Zealand company that seems like it might start outsourcing work overseas. But as long as Swanndri stays in business, I'll always have mail-order.

But gone, too, is the pretty girl who worked there. It was admittedly as much a guilty pleasure to go and chat her up from time to time as it was to spend money recklessly on yet another jumper or jacket.

Meanwhile, back in the States, in the roughly 12 days I had to actually see people, I managed to fit in spending some quality time with my parents for Thanksgiving. I also caught up with some good friends in Newport News where I lived the 9 years prior to moving to New Zealand, and I also fit in 3 days in Vegas where I stayed at Paris - in a suite with a Jacuzzi, no less.

It seems as if almost everybody I know back home has moved into newer, bigger houses. Well, at least 100% of the people I stayed with on my trip were in new houses, those people being my parents as well as my friends Kathy and Robert. So, combined with the very nice suite in Vegas, at least my short time back in the States was spent in quality digs.

My friends Mary and Ted in Williamsburg have also moved but their house needs a bit of work. The trade-off is they're in a great neighbourhood and I have seen the improvements they did on their last house, so I know they're capable of great things. They have all of my respect, for there is no way I could ever succeed where they have and will surely. So I can't wait to visit them again someday and see what they've done with the place!

While home in Lynchburg, I managed to visit the National D-Day Memorial for the first time, and it's located in nearby Bedford, Virginia. It is there because that little township lost more people per capita on D-Day than any other town in the United States. In this regard, Bedford, Virginia, parallels New Zealand in a way, although for a different war: New Zealand suffered more casualties and fatalities per capita as a country in World War I than any other contributing force.

There is a commanding arch that dominates the centre of the D-Day memorial, and flags of all of the nations that contributed to that historic assault on that day fly around its perimeter, including New Zealand's flag. It was a good day for visiting, as far as sunshine went, but it was terribly cold and windy. I managed to take some photographs and will get them online at some point soon.

It's an excellent monument and I encourage anyone interested to go. Even though there is not much nightlife to speak of in the region (although there's a great restaurant in a restored train station, called - wait for it - "Old Liberty Station"), you would be remiss in not exploring the Peaks of Otter as well as the associated parkway all the way up to Skyline Drive if you can make it. You won't regret it.

This trip home was bittersweet, as while it was great to see everyone again and catch up, I had to take my leave of them once again. It was also nice to just be in the States in general. There really were no moments of absolute 'reverse' culture shock, which is what you might experience upon returning to civilization for the first time after a significant chunk of time away in a foreign land. Perhaps this would have been more the case if, instead of living in another first world country these past 18 months, I had been roughing it in the jungles of the Amazon Basin, or trying to eke out an existence somewhere inside the Arctic Circle, or even Arkansas.

Anyways, about the only thing that took me aback was the size of the Coke I had ordered with dinner at one restaurant. Holy big thirst, Batman! It was like ... a bucket with a hose attached to it. Sheeza. Even though we've waged war on 'Big Fat' now in the States, we still have some embarrassingly large portion sizes over there. At least the percentage of people categorised as 'obese' has levelled off this year for the first time in five years, and that is good news.

Finally, just as a general observation that fits here more than anywhere else, I like how the administrations in the United States and New Zealand are warming to each other over the past few years. There is the new student visa program sponsored by the U.S. for Kiwis wanting to study in the States for a year, up from six months as it was before.

Condy and Winnie have been chummy for the past few years.

And, perhaps most significantly, Jemaine and Bret are succeeding as diplomats for New Zealand in ways their government otherwise could never have hoped! As one of the posters featured on Flight of the Conchords states, "New Zealand... Rocks!!!"

Anyways, the trip home and back again wasn't nearly as taxing as I thought it'd be. I haven't had any problems sleeping or getting back to work like I thought I might, although I did have a very hard time getting up before noon while I was back home! I blame the jetlag. Or my pineal gland, or something.

It's good to be home in New Zealand again, and my trip to the States has helped refresh my perspective on my journey down here. With the advent of summer here now Down Under, I'm ready to renew my commitments to touring the waterfront and cafes of Wellington on my days off as well as to doing more stuff with my friends. Gone for now are the short, cold days of winter, bad habits (*cough* World of Warcraft *cough*), and just hanging around the flat.

That means I'll also be giving this slack blog a kick in the backside in the process. Whether I write anything interesting or not is a whole other matter, and I'm not making any promises there.

This post was composed while under the influence of a heavy dose of caffeine on an AlphaSmart 3000 on various table tops in cafes throughout Wellington, including but not limited to: the Jimmy, Cafe Astoria, Starbucks, and Deluxe Cafe.

Turandot

2007-11-01T06:55:00.000+13:00

Well my first opera experience was definitely a positive one. Opera is such an awesome spectacle; it's a highly-effective combination of a powerful symphony with actors on stage who possess incredible vocal talents. It is as if opera were really how drama is expressed to its maximum potential.

The storyline for this opera was rather straightforward, in that Turandot (played expertly by Margaret Medlyn) is a Chinese princess who embodies the spirit of a past queen who was brutally slain by her king on their wedding night. As such, Turandot has vowed never to take a husband unless he can solve three enigmatic riddles. When the story opens, we are treated to the grim spectacle of witnessing the most recent of the failed suitors - and there have been many - being put to death.

The protagonist of the story is a prince (who has no name at the beginning - unless you cheated and read the program!) who falls in love with her truly and covets not her glory or her riches or power - just her. With such noble intentions he sets out to win her over and take the test of the riddles, but if he fails as have the dozens before him, he'll be put to the ax.

When the curtain rose on the opening act, the audience took a collective gasp at the set: it was the stark wall of the city gate or perhaps a tower, and adorning it were dozens of photos of the men who had been executed for failing to solve the riddles of the princess. They were mug-shot style photos and all of the men had expressions that all displayed varying degrees of misery. There were no actors on the stage and the whole set was lit up in a severe, unforgiving white light.

Things did not bode well for our prince, so besotted with love was he for Turandot.

As the first act drew to a close, during which time the prince declared his love for the princess and that he wished to take the test, we experienced what I think was the most gripping and effective part of this opera.

There were three wise men (Ping, Pang, and Pong) who handle the affairs of the princess, including the grisly details of both having to prepare for a wedding (should the suitor succeed in solving the riddles) while simultaneously having to prepare for the ritual of execution, knowing full well that this was the more likely outcome. These men proved to be a sort of comic relief throughout the show and they had a benevolent streak as all they really wanted to do was either talk the prince out of his quest or at least pull for him to win so they could have a nice wedding and finally be done with their endless somber task.

After failing to persuade the prince to abandon his mad crusade, they get on with the preparations for the ritual of the test. The first order of business then was to take the prince's picture - so they could add it to their growing collection on the wall. So as the bloodthirsty masses are teeming around the prince, calling for his head, two of the wise men back the prince up to the wall. One of them then rushes out with an old-timey camera, the kind with the phosphorescent flash powder held aloft separately from the camera (sorry for the cumbersome description there, I just don't know what it's called!).

Anyways, I mention that because the energy on stage was building to a frenzy, between the chorus howling for blood and the orchestra playing passionately. As the prince stares into the camera, you notice he is wearing the same sort of uncertain, doomed expression borne on the faces of so many of the men whose pictures hang on the wall just above him.

The flash powder pops, bathing the prince's forlorn face in a harsh white light, and that is all you see as the stage lights quickly fade and the curtain comes running down.

I thought it was brilliant and I've never felt quite a rush of excitement like that during any sort of performance before!

(Well, as long as you don't count that one time I saw that burlesque act at a club called Forty Deuce in Los Angeles.... Oh, baby!)

Since this was my first opera (so far) I obviously cannot compare it to any others, but I would certainly recommend it to anyone. It took me a while to come around on the opera, and I only wish I had done it sooner. Yet there is no reason to rue the past - I am lucky to have an excellent opera house right here in Wellington and the New Zealand Opera is a well-run organization and I can't wait to see what's in store for next year!

One of my big goals now is to one day see a production of Wagner's Parsifal. It was his last opera that he wrote before his death and it is supposed to be his best, which is saying a lot given how magnificent Wagner operas seem to be. They have yet to perform a Wagner opera in New Zealand, although there is a society devoted to making that happen. Still, if it does happen it may not be for some years and would almost certainly be in Auckland. I do know that Wagner is done over in Aussie and Margaret Medlyn herself played the title role of Kundry about six years ago there.

Hopefully one day, not too far down the road, I'll be writing a review of my first-ever viewing of Parsifal!

A Night At The Opera

2007-10-10T20:29:00.000+13:00

Ten week furlough? What ten week furlough?

Yeah, I'm back and for those of you still reading - thanks for that! I've really been doing nothing much except working, a little socializing, and damn little else of consequence. Certainly nothing worthy of reporting here and not anything picture-worthy. But I've got some stuff to talk about now, and I'd also like to take this moment to introduce a new friend, one Julie Rogue. Her blog is now linked at the right as well! She's a fellow fan of Jake Johannsen, who is one of the funniest stand-up comedians I've ever seen. Jake was featured in my very first blog entry, and Julie found me from Jake's MySpace page and added me to the fan club she runs over there for Jake! Like me, she's another blogging veterinarian, and she's got a very clever journal going over there so I encourage you to read through it when you get a moment.

Well there will be yet another first for me coming up soon. I have booked tickets to go see my first-ever opera, and it will be Puccini's Turandot. I can't wait because it has taken me a very long time to get to the point where I am actually interested in going to the opera. There are several factors contributing here, and I guess it all goes back to that Music History course I had to take to finish out an Arts elective back at my old school, William & Mary.

The teacher was very good, which was key*, as I had no musical background or any real interest in the history of music outside of that which was absolutely necessary to get me a passing grade. But the people and the events behind these compelling dramas, not to mention the stories they told, were really pretty fascinating.

I'm a big fan of the American sitcom, Frasier, as well, and many times throughout that show's seasons Frasier and his brother Niles made it to the opera. You can't help but absorb a little bit of the culture associated with the opera and I found myself hitting Wikipedia over and over again to look up what the hell Frasier and Niles were talking about. Many of these operas sounded very interesting!

So it is that I find myself with tickets to the opera in ten days' time. One of the many things I love about Wellington is having a strong arts scene, and although I've not been inside the St. James Theatre where Turandot will be playing I have visited the cafe there many times (called The Jimmy) and it's really nice.

I'll post back with my account of the whole experience and I'm sure I'll be doing something in town before or after the show as it's on a Saturday night.

Aside from that, I am looking forward to my trip home to visit the States in about six weeks. It has come up fast and I know it will go by too quickly as well. I've had to move one more time but now am on a two-year lease so I don't have to worry about my flat being sold out from under me again. Didn't see that one coming, but then again there are very few apartment complexes over here, like we have in the States. Most flats (what apartments or condos are called over here) are privately-owned and, unless you've got something written into your lease about a guaranteed length of stay, they can decide to sell it and you've most likely got to move. They did give me six weeks which was plenty of time and I'm not complaining but I did find all this out the hard way. I was quite happy in Totara Park, but in the new place I'm still the same distance from my favorite walk up to Cannon Point, plus the new flat is a little bigger for basically the same rent. 'Sall good.

I finished the Improv class and really loved it, and as with the Drama class we finished with a performance. My friends Sarah and Simon came along to see me in the show, however like a dork I mistakenly told them the wrong time so they didn't get to come inside! I'll almost certainly take another class like it again, though, but not the one that just started this week. The next step of the Improv class I just finished began the other night but I decided to skip this term. I'd have missed two or three of the classes due to my trip back home, and there are only seven classes total. I'll miss it because it was a great outlet and there are some really cool people in there, but I'll take the rest of the year off from classes and start them up again in 2008.

My writing class was all right, but I found that as it went along I was not putting the time into my short stories that I needed to have done. As such, I was turning out hastily-written stuff and I wasn't developing my writing skills at all. I also found that the writing guides I have bought on my own seemed to be at least as helpful as what I was being taught in class, minus the chance to read what my peers were writing and having them critique what I wrote. It's all right, though, I did learn that I need to consistently put in a good chunk of time every week and develop a writing routine if I ever want to improve at it. This I can do using books and I can collaborate with others on-line as there are heaps of short story and creative writing outlets out there now, as well as the occasional workshop. I don't think I'll take another weekly class again, though. It's too spread out and only goes on for 8-10 weeks.

Well, that's me! This rather long-winded and rambling update is nowhere near as earth-shattering as a 'first post back after weeks away' type post should be, but it's a start.

So I'm a little rusty!
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*Ha, get it? Key?! I'm writing about music...

"I have been a brain surgeon for the past 5,000 years."*

2007-07-30T14:30:00.000+12:00

Part III of my tour de force of class-taking this year just kicked off the other night. It is perhaps the most-anticipated portion of this renaissance I’m currently undergoing, because it was the first night of my Improv class. The official title is “Improvised Comedy – For Beginners,” and the class is being taught by a chap named Simon. I’ve seen him before, as he is one of the big mucky-mucks involved with the Wellington Improvisation Troupe (WIT) and I saw him as he emceed their 25-hour Improv-a-thon earlier this year.

I also saw him perform with the Troupe in one of their many shows around Wellington, as a couple months ago I got Simon (not the same Simon, natch) and Sarah to join me for this. It was one of those nights where they had the audience help sort out three storylines. By the end of the night you, the audience, determine by applause which storyline ‘wins’ and so the actors on stage must carry on with it and create a storyline that has a beginning, middle, and an end. Along the way on this night they did a Western, a Musical, and an Action-Adventure story – which was the ultimate winner. It had everything: star-crossed lovers, pyramids, an evil genius, Mexicans, a magical spade, and a chain-smoking genie with a Russian accent.

Got to love improv!

Anyways. So Simon is our very capable teacher and I can tell this class is going to be lots of fun. It’s so enjoyable that at the end of the first class I felt a real let-down as I realized it would be another WHOLE WEEK before we could meet again. That’s how much fun we were all having. There are eighteen of us in this class, so it’s just about double the enrollment I had with my Mixed Abilities Drama Classes. As an added plus, my Dutch friend (and co-scriptwriter!) Dana is back as she’s taking this class too. She really seems to have been bitten by the acting bug as badly as I have so it’ll be fun to enjoy this class with her.

There are a whole range of people in this class, in terms of ages and occupations. We’ve got a tennis instructor, a woman who works on the City Council, an Outward Bound instructor (here for ‘shits and giggles’ as she put it), a wise-cracking British guy who bills himself as an Internet Evangelist, a Yank who once upon a time acted in plays (me), a lawyer with an interest in the film industry, and many more (obviously, since I haven’t listed eighteen different people there).

It seems lots of people come to something like improv in order to learn how to let go in front of a crowd a bit better, as many of my classmates hail from the business or government sectors and consequently could get a leg up if only they lost a little inhibition and gained a little confidence in the arena of public speaking.

I think it’s going to be a hell of a fun ride and I can’t wait to get back in there next Monday night. As I do, I have become a bit nervous about making it to class on time every night, for the following reasons (paranoias):

A) Class starts only an hour after I’m due to get out of work. I have a 45- minute drive through rush hour traffic to get into Wellington to get to the high school where it’s held. Parking is at a real premium around the high school as there’s lots of people taking these kinds of classes (of which there are dozens) and WHS has a pretty tiny parking lot, all things considered.

Secondly) Being a vet, there are sometimes things that come in that just have to be seen, even though I’m supposed to ‘punch the clock’ at 5 on Mondays. So duty might require me to skip out on class or at least arrive late, which would certainly be better than having to wait – gasp! – TWO weeks in between classes.

I need an Improv fix, and I need it now!

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*A line from one of our improv games. You, uh, definitely had to be there...

“He’s not dead. He’s resting!”*

2007-07-12T12:47:00.000+12:00

No really, I’m fine, just lazy. I have let this blog thing of mine slip too far for too long. I miss it, truly I do.

I think part of the reason I’ve let it go for the length of time that I have is that it’s been a sort of natural pause for me. A time to catch my second wind, as it were, since I’ve now been here in New Zealand for just over a calendar year.

Granted, it’s been no Labor of Hercules to keep a casual blog on which I post about 1-3 times per week. But (believe it or not) I do strive to have something meaningful and positive and creative to post each time I do write, so I do expend a little bit of the old brainpower every time I craft one of these babies.

And, well, there’s a sort of inertia setting in after my first full year of diving head-first into New Zealand and all that it has to offer. I’ve accomplished some major milestones I’d set up for myself and I think there’s a natural lull that will occur anytime you reach goals you have set for yourself. Not that I’m resting on my laurels, mind you, but these things won’t mean as much if I, (a) don’t take the time to sit back and savor them and (b) keep achieving goals at a breakneck pace just for the sake of achieving goals.

Or maybe I’m just trying to deftly explain away my lassitude with all of this rationalization.

So, the arbitrary passing of an Earth year in marking my arrival to New Zealand aside, there was also another culmination of sorts recently: Ginger Crunch's performance of "Adventures in the Dark Forest", Ginger Crunch being the Mixed Abilities Drama Group with which I’ve been involved for most of 2007.

We had our one and only show on a Monday night just over a fortnight ago (two weeks ago to you Yanks, heh), and I think it was a smashing success. I really do, and I’m not just being hyperbolic. I really am quite chuffed that we pulled it off at all! Not that I doubted us, no, but I am more excited from the following standpoint: If you had told me back in January that my small class of ten people would be able to meet once a week for 15 sessions at only 90 minutes a pop and be able to stage a full-on drama with singing, dancing, costumes, props and LINES and stage directions, by crikey, I’d have said you were mad.

But we did it! Nobody will be winning any Drama Desk or Tony Awards for this one-off performance, but it really was quite a thrill to make it all happen. It was even better that my friends Sarah and Claire came to watch, as it's always far more rewarding to put on a show with friends and family in the audience. One of the many other things I missed most about the theater was that collaborative spirit that goes into making a production, to steal a line John Lithgow used in 3^rd Rock From the Sun. There were some real bonds formed there and I really do hope to at least be seeing these people from my class again in the future, if not in another production then at least socially.

Even if I don’t, there is going to be a DVD of the whole affair that night because Kate our director thought so much as to organize a film crew!

The performance was based upon William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the basic plot is that the Fairy King and Queen and their whole cadre of fairy underlings are having a spat over a particular servant they both claim as their own. Their conflict bleeds over into the mortal world, dramatically changing the lives of some ordinary laborers as well as a foursome of lovers caught up in a hopeless love triangle. There are some pretty choice roles in the actual Shakespearean play, the two most coveted being those of Bottom, the chief laborer, and Puck, the Fairy King’s right-hand… fairy.

I played one of the lovers, a man named Demetrius. Before the faerie magic transformed him, Demetrius was a vain man consumed with desire for Hermia. She did not return his love, however, as her heart belonged to Lysander, who then by default became Demetrius’ nemesis.

Say those last two words three times fast.

Lysander was played by Duncan, whom I affectionately call “Dunk” (clever, no?) and he was one of the Mixed Abilities kids in our class. The fourth lover, Helena, was played expertly by a Canadian girl named Briony, and in the story she loves Demetrius who obviously loves another and thus scorns her to no end. Dana, a Dutch girl in our class, played Hermia in her first experience acting and it was great to see her learn so much so fast.

Dana not only rounded out our (multi-national) cast of lovers, she and I also shared script duty. One of our jobs was to ‘dumb down’ the Shakespearean rhetoric of only the lovers and make their dialect more modern. This would hopefully serve to enhance the illusion we were creating since then only the fairy types spoke in the flowery language of the Bard, while us lovers and the laborers (called the “Mechanicals” in the play) sounded more familiar and hence more like the audience. So Dana and I spent a fun night in the Jimmy Café writing up a script and then editing and re-editing and re-re-editing it to the tune of a couple of coffees. We had fun playing out all the parts at our table as a crowd of people waiting to see that evening's performance in the Westpac Theater milled around us. It was cool to have an impromptu performance with an informal audience. I think the coffees made us a bit... spastic!

Dunk played his role as Lysander with zeal and focus and I had a great time working with him, as well as the others. Together we learned a very rudimentary form of stage fighting (i.e., we made most of it up as we went along) and he would regularly give me a good thrashing at every rehearsal.

Duncan’s mom, Max, and his sister, Zoe, were a huge part of the production as well, coming in towards the end to organize the costumes, set design, and props. We really were spoiled by them and without their touch the whole thing still would have been fun but it would have lacked so much without their artistic talents. The DVD version of the performance should bear this out.

Kate, our director, was equal parts inspiring and demanding and creative. She kept us so entertained and enlivened and involved that we didn’t really realize until towards the end just how hard she was pushing us. It was not until we started to see and experience concrete evidence that we really had a show here that we began to fully appreciate Kate’s talents as a director – and producer, really. She was always open to suggestions and seemed to know exactly how to get the best out of each and every one of us. I really hope to work with her again one day.

I cannot fail to also mention James, our co-director and the musician of the group. Kate press-ganged James into service for last year’s version of Ginger Crunch, as James was serendipitously noodling on the piano in the theater when the Mixed Abilities Drama class showed up. They liked the way he sounded, he liked the idea of their group, and so he was then recruited and given a battlefield promotion as the troupe’s Lead Musician. So not only did we have visual augmentation with a set and props and costumes, but we also had a soundtrack! The creativity level of theater is really at its maximum when you incorporate music, in whatever way shape or form, and I’m so thankful we had James along there with us. I learned a lot from him and he’s a really cool guy.

As of now Kate’s off in London at the Globe Theatre itself doing a Shakespeare workshop. Soon after her return we are to have a DVD viewing party! If I can figure out how to do it I will make some screen captures from the performance disc but until now there are the two pictures below that I have of me and my co-star Dunk. In one of them you can also see Luke as Sprite, one of the fairies. He, too, did a great job and I believe it was also his first acting experience. In that shot he is casting a spell on Duncan and I to stop us fighting over the women.

It’s a good thing he stopped us, too, because that Dunk sure can scrap!

*”Resting?”

“Yeah, he’s tired and shagged out after a prolonged squawk.”

"Well why have you nailed his feet to the perch then?"

"Look, if I hadn't nailed him there, he'd have bent those bars apart wif his beak and.... Voom!"

“Voom?! Mate, this parrot wouldn’t ‘Voom’ if you put 4 million volts through it!”

- Thanks to Monty Python for giving us the comedy classic that is The Dead Parrot Sketch.

High Commander's Log: Status Report*

2007-06-21T23:45:00.001+12:00

I've been here for a year now in New Zealand, and I find it hard to believe. I say that because it has absolutely flown by, but when I reflect upon it that is only because it's been such a good year for me. Not only have the times been very good, but I've kept so busy with things that it's made the past twelve months zip past and feel like no more than two or three months.

I was originally going to try and be cute and frame this post in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way by posting not on the one 'Earth year' anniversary of my arrival here in New Zealand. No, I thought I'd be clever and post on the date of my first 'Venusian year' here, since that is actually something like 283 days long. But since there are probably not too many astrophysicists in the audience (and even if there were, there are even fewer among them who might find that funny), I (wisely) decided not to do that.

So I'm not going to go on and on here, but since it's a pretty big milestone for me I'll just recap the past year and also take this moment to anticipate the upcoming year.

I have achieved my biggest goal, that being to obtain New Zealand Resident status. I just have one final technicality to take care of (pay the migrant levy) and it'll be official. That is a stepping stone to Citizenship, and I'm not sure I'll make it that far but I certainly didn't come over here for just a year or two! The more I stay here the more I grow attached to New Zealand, especially Wellington, so to have accomplished this has really put my mind at rest. As it stood on the day I flew in to Auckland exactly a year ago, I had just ten months to go from a one-year temporary work visa to getting that extended and starting the residency process. I've got a two-year visa now through 2009 and the aforementioned residency. I'm stoked!

I've made some great friends, from the ones that were easiest to meet through work like Andrew and Sarah, to completely unexpected and serendipitous ones like Lyndsay, who's yeoman-like faithfulness to reading my blog really helped get me going and keep me going in the early stages!

I've been all over both the North and South islands of New Zealand, having done things like climb two mountains, cruise a fiord, drive countless scenic routes, go deep sea fishing and explore the streets and coffee houses of Wellington and Christchurch.

There were the acting classes I've always meant to get back into, as well as the upcoming short story writing course I'm dying to take.

My cats got here with amazing ease, not to mention expen$e, and they've been great to have around to say the least!

I've found a good job and a good boss with a good team around me, so about that I feel very fortunate indeed. Hard to know just what you're getting into from all the way on the other side of the world, I can tell you that much! So I'm glad things have worked out on this front for me.

One of the most important things of all, and one of the most personally rewarding things about this experience, has been my ability to stick with this blog. If I didn't write all this stuff down and take all those pictures, this whole journey wouldn't mean half as much as it does, for you just have to savor things like this and for me that involves writing about it.

Actually I have a shocking memory and I would have forgotten many of these things if I didn't bother to record them for posterity!

All that being said about the past year, there are some other things which temper it all a bit. I do miss my family and friends from home, although I am headed back there for a visit for Thanksgiving this year. That's helped keep the homesickness away for now, and I am psyched that I'll get to see everybody again real soon.

I have to move, a near-certain fact with each passing day. It's not my choice, of course, for I love Totara Park. But a common scenario here in New Zealand is that 'flats' or apartments are often and seemingly mostly privately-owned. This means it's not like the situation back home where you have large apartment complexes that you could stay in indefinitely, should you so choose. Lots of these flats are individually owned so if the owner has to sell your flat, you may have to move. They're not selling to kick you out, but they have good reasons most of the time I am sure. But what that does to you as a 'flatter' is: 1. You now have to hope whoever buys it doesn't want to move in themselves; 2. If they don't want to move in, they have to want to keep you on as a flatter; 3. If they want to keep you on, they can't raise the rent too much; 4. You can buy the place yourself, if you are willing and able; 5. The new owner may want you to stay and not raise the rent too much, so you win after all. Odds are that won't happen, but there's still a chance. And I will get 42 days to find a place on my own, once I've been properly notified that I have to vacate. So I'll find something else, but I will miss Totara Park!

Finally, as much as I've done this past year and as big a success as I feel that it's been for me on so many levels, there's even more I want to see and do in the next year. Hell, the next several years - all of them hopefully spent here in New Zealand!

What's the one thing I haven't mentioned that I expect to happen in the next couple of years?

YOU GOTTA COME VISIT ME!
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*Reference to my favorite TV show, 3rd Rock From The Sun.

There And Back Again

2007-06-16T06:49:00.000+12:00

Right. So... where were we?

Been a minute, eh?

Sorry about that. Had become quite distracted with uploading over 100 new images to Photobucket from my last trip, which was now over two weeks ago, and since I have a lowly dial-up connection it has been a less-then-engaging prospect whenever I get on the Net to upload these babies. I could do it more easily from work, where we have broadband, but I've come to realize we have a monthly bandwidth allowance there and I didn't feel right hogging it all in one go with personal photos.

But they're up now! And I'm back! What else have you noticed while I've been away? That's right, the Usual Gang of Idiots over at MAD Magazine seem to have appropriated my blog template and given it the old once-over. Actually that's not entirely true. I'm really behind the whole thing, and many thanks to my friend se7en over at Blogs Gone Wild for doing this design for me and my exacting specifications! He's worth every penny, folks, so if you ever have a hankering to customize your blog template, I can wholeheartedly recommend him.

I hope you like it! I grew up with MAD and have always loved its satire and sense of humor. My uncle Mark would sure appreciate this page if he saw it! The top artwork is from MAD's very first cover, if you couldn't deduce that already, while the other images you see are all from other early MAD covers. MAD is still great, and of course the writers have changed, but I'll always consider the first 30-50 issues to be the funniest.

Anyways. So what did I get up to when I returned to the south island last month? Well before I get into that, I have to say there is one very big omission from my last posting, about my epic journey to the mountains with friends. The night we all arrived at Chris's bach, as we were getting out of our cars and unpacking we all noticed how brilliant the night sky was. It was nearly a new moon and as we were way out in the wops of Lake Taupo's perimeter, there were no city lights to blot out the details. So I commented on how you could see the swath of the Milky Way and as cool as that was I still had yet to see the Southern Cross.

After a moment of searching, one of them pointed out, "Oh there it is, right there."

And sure enough, there it was: the Southern Cross! For the first time. Just like in that song. It's the southern hemisphere's version of our Polaris or North Star, since it usually occupies a spot near the 'top' of the heavens as you behold the nighttime sky.

So I checked one more thing off of my very long list of things to see and do Down Under and felt a bit more contented with my travels thus far.

Now on to this most recent expedition. It was certainly nothing as epic as scaling two small mountains in one day, but it was no less enjoyable as I had more stunning scenery to enjoy than even my eager camera could capture. I took the Bluebridge ferry across the Cook Strait again, as I always do, and when I got to the little township of Picton on the south island I took a hard right towards Nelson this time instead of veering south towards Blenheim and ultimately Christchurch.

I opted for the scenic route through the mountains and along some lakes as it was more direct 'as the crow flies' even though the state highway allowed for higher sustained speeds (yes they call them 'state' highways down here, very interesting). Well it was a serendipitous guess as not only did I have some great scenery along this route but I made good time and there was hardly another car on the road with me.

Basically the whole trip went like that: I had nearly every location I went to visit all to myself, which allowed not only for some good picture-taking moments but it also let me savor it a bit more, as if what I were looking at were all my own. It was a relief from the dismal feeling you get when the tour buses let out and you are crammed in, cheek-by-jowl, with hundreds of other camera-toting tourists all trying to get snapshots of the exact same thing. That cheapens the experience and adds a needless level of stress, of which I was mercifully free this entire trip.

I got the ferry from Wellington to Picton, drove over the hills west to Nelson where I spent the next day exploring nearby Rabbit Island, Kaiteriteri Beach and the exquisite setting of Split Apple Rock. I then drove down to the West Coast and spent the next two days in Punakaiki, mainly to see their famous Pancake Rocks. I also took in a nice tramp to a secluded bay off the Truman Trail and hit Westport, a coal mining town, for a coffee and that night visited a great restaurant called the Bay House Cafe & Restaurant. It reminded me very much of a great place in Malibu, California, called Duke's, for several reasons. It started out as a surfer's hang-out and was built by... a surfer. It's on a bay with great views of the sunset. And it also has excellent food and service. Unfortunately for me, it was pissing down outside so I had no views to enjoy let a lone a sunset, but Bay House made up for the lack of this in heaps of other ways and I'll certainly be bringing friends and family back there when I visit the area again.

My last day I spent driving out of the rain clouds back towards Nelson, where I had one final stop that I really wanted to make. A friend of mine, Lisa, told me all about many of the places I would see on this strip as she's very familiar with this part of New Zealand. The only spot she had recommended that I hadn't seen yet was a place called Pelorus Bridge, over the river Pelorus. I zipped past the entrance to its park and trail on the way down and made a mental note to try and save some daylight for the return trip so I wouldn't miss out on this place.

Well, I made it after all, and what follows are some details of this and the rest of my sightseeing trip and my impressions of it. You can view my pictures from this trip here, and I picked the best 103 out of the 300+ I took with my Canon digital camera. I had no sun to work with on the day I visited Pancake Rocks, but I'm not complaining because it was supposed to be raining heavily all day and there wasn't a drop until that night when I went to dinner. So I consider myself very lucky to have been able to see the Rocks and get some pictures that day!

...Halfway between Nelson and Punakaiki I drove through a farming town called Murchison. I was treated to a very cool experience in this part of the trip, as while driving in I entered the valley in which Murchison sits and there it was before me, all in a fog. The entire valley was totally covered beneath a blanket of cloud, which was hovering a couple hundred feet in the air so visibility below it was crystal clear. A combination of fading sunlight and burgeoning moonlight suffused the cloud layer with a soft white light, which dissipated into the grey drizzle below it. At every end of the valley all around its entire rim the tops of the hills ascended unseen into the mist. It truly felt magical, as it came into view all of a sudden and if you didn't know any better you might think the world dropped off at the edges of the valley, beyond the cloud-covered mountains. As you can imagine I was really keen for a picture but I couldn't take one because it was impossible to give a sense of scale with a photo or two. I could have filmed it but I had a good rhythm going on this drive and I didn't want to stop. So as with the image of the ocean off the coast of Dunedin that one night, this one shall remain in my memory only...

...“Have you seen any mushrooms yet?” one of two moms asked me as I toured the pine forest trails of Rabbit Island. Each mom was pushing a pram and also had a toddler each in tow, and all of them had curious pink and lavender circles painted in the center of their foreheads - even the little babies sacked out asleep in the prams were thusly adorned. Apparently this stretch of forest was known for its monster-sized mushrooms, and no I hadn't seen any the way I had come, I told them. I never did figure out the connection between the symbols on their foreheads and the mushrooms but they were all very sweet and it's just one of those curious things you see from time to time!...

...Dire Straits was playing on the stereo of the backpackers lounge when I got there, and something about Mark Knopfler's music set the tone for the whole trip perfectly. Once again, music and my travels coincided sublimely! I hadn't heard any Dire Straits in a while so it was cool hanging out and talking with a German woman who was also traveling with her friend. I stayed at the Punakaiki Beach Hostel, which was well-maintained and perfectly situated right on the beach (as advertised!). Lutz is the very kind owner of the PBH, and he was a font of information about the whole region. He even let me use his own phone to make a long-distance call, God bless him...

...I bought some Nashi pears ("MmmMmm" good) at a roadside stand on the way back from Kaiteriteri. Not that this is the sort of thing that would usually warrant reporting, but it was unique in that it was an uninhabited, stand-alone shack with bags of fruit within, a coin box, and a sign saying that it was being monitored. So it operated on the honor system! There were a couple of blokes working the fence a few meters down the road but they were all but ignoring me. A kindly, fat little Jack Russell Terrier came up and greeted me as I bought my pears - perhaps he was on sentry duty for the fruit stand? I gave him a few pats and then as I approached my car he wisely backed away from the driveway, allowing me to continue on my way...

...As I made my way out of Murchison I knew the next stop would be Westport, which commanded a decent enough portion of my road map to look like a big city. But as I kept getting nearer and nearer to my destination, according to the road signs, I couldn't help but noticing – where are the city lights? It was late at night yet the horizon had yet to be lit up by the inevitable glow of a nearby city, the fact that I was still winding my way down through the mountains notwithstanding. Also, usually on the way to or from a city of significant size you will encounter lots of trucks, yet I had seen precious few although this made it far easier to navigate the winding hills. Then as I reached the city limits, I read the sign proclaiming Westport's population size: 6,000. Oh...

...As I drove south of Westport towards Punakaiki, I knew that for much of the way the road wound its way along adjacent to the coastline, much as it does on the east side above and below Kaikoura. But since it was night, I knew the sea would be sneaking up on me - this time on right-hand side of the car. After a little while driving, I pulled over and killed the engine, rolling down the window. I was greeted by a cool salty breeze and the sound of waves. Don’t look now, but there’s the ocean, right outside the car! In this case it was the Tasman Sea, the vast gulf that separates New Zealand from Australia...

... This is a bit far down to put this, but as I was making my way home from the Bay Cafe at night I swear I saw a Kiwi bird sitting right in the middle of Millers Lead Road! If it truly was one, it was in the other lane, and by the time I slowed down, turned around and headed slowly back, whatever it was it had left for good. There's no doubt it was an animal, as I could see a pair of eyes gleaming back at me as I drove past it. But was it the elusive Kiwi? I'll never know and I'm not even sure they inhabit that part of New Zealand...

...The long distance call I made on Lutz's phone was to make a reservation at the Bay Cafe. I asked if they would be open and they said that as normally there are very few tourists at this time of year, most things are shut but that it would be smart to make a reservation because they might not be open unless they knew they had guests coming. It didn't occur to me until the next night on my drive up there, but I suddenly wondered if they were staying open just for me? There were damn few tourists anywhere and I could just see myself strolling in there, the only soul in the restaurant apart from the beleaguered staff, who had to come in for one overly curious tourist! I knew they had gotten great write-ups regarding their service in two of my three New Zealand travel guides, but I didn't think they could go that far! I breathed a sigh of relief when I got there and found the restaurant to be well-populated indeed. They could stay open exclusively for someone like Bill Bryson, but not a punter like me!...

...I had great luck with the weather all the way, as I was touring the south island's West Coast in late Autumn, when it's notoriously rainy. From the limitless sunshine of my first day to the rain holding off to allow me to explore Pancake Rocks in a state of dryness, to this final day as I drove home. It was raining from the moment I got into the car at Punakaiki all the way until Nelson, where the clouds duly vanished (for a bit), lending credence to this city's claim that it gets the most sunshine hours of any location in New Zealand. It's true, by the way, but it was awfully nice of the weather to accommodate me yet again and in such dramatic fashion. As if it were my cue to leave after stopping for some lunch in Nelson, the clouds began to form ominously on all visible horizons. I retreated hastily to the car, got underway and as I climbed into the hills northeast of Nelson, the cloud cover progressed to steady rainfall again. As I drew nearer to Pelorus Bridge my heart sank as I felt like my good luck might be running out and I wouldn't be able to get pictures of this last sight. But yet again the rain ceased, allowing me a good fifteen minutes or so to walk the bridge and a bit of the trail beyond, giving me a chance to take some more pictures. And this I did!...

My latest trip now over, I pulled into Picton, where the rain had thoughtfully paused for me again, and repaired to my usual haunt, the Rumba Café & Bar. I also paid my now-ritual homage to the Best Public Loo In All Of New Zealand (yes, the one that plays Burt Bacharach songs and thanks you for stopping by, as well as the Star Trek door-opening sounds).

I love the Rumba. It’s in a very good spot although really the main drag in Picton is easy to navigate in its entirety on foot, as it’s not very long. But this café is very close to the beautiful waterfront the town has constructed, and had the weather been in a better mood I’d have gone down there to pass the time away. I did have four hours, after all. But the company at the café was pleasant as always, and the friendly staff is one of the reasons I keep coming back here. The excellent fish and chips is another big reason, plus they make a good mocchacino, although I have yet to have a bad one of these anywhere in New Zealand.

“I never met a soy mocha I didn’t like.” Somebody famous said that once. I think it was before a battle. Or maybe it was in one of them Westerns.

Anyways, as I walked into the Rumba, I was carrying my newest book purchase tucked under one arm. As I was placing my order, the gal behind the desk said to me, “My you certainly look to be on a mission there with that book!”

Incorrectly thinking she meant I looked as if I were about to ask her if she had heard the Good News, I chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to try and convert anybody in here today!”

Now it was her turn to laugh.

Suddenly sensing my error, I blushed and said, “Oh! You’re referring to the size of my book, not that I look like some sort of missionary!”

For I was carrying a copy of Antony Beevor’s Stalingrad, an excellent World War II volume recommended to me by a bookkeeper in Westport. It’s not quite War And Peace size but it’s a hefty enough tome.

I mentioned how it was different from what I had usually read, and she said she’d quite like to read it one day as she hadn’t read too many historical books either. Turns out she’s a big Stephen King and Dean Koontz fan, and of the former I’ve read some but of the latter I’ve read not a bit – yet. She did recommend Dragon’s Tears to me, one of Koontz's earlier works, so I’ll be looking for that at Arty Beez Booksellers next time I happen by there.

You know, that growing stack of unread books back home isn’t quite big enough yet, so why not add a few more inches to its height?

On the slopes of Mount Doom

2007-05-23T22:46:00.000+12:00

The day dawned gloriously for the Fellowship of the Tramp. The morning sunlight mixed brightly with the mists rising from Lake Taupo, serving to coat her surface in an enchanted silvery maelstrom.

I had journeyed here, to this scenic lake at the foot of the North Island Volcanic Plateau, with another member of the Fellowship the previous day. Our quest had been in the planning stages for weeks, but now it was finally time to finish what we had set out to do all those months ago.

Not to be taken lightly, our journey was something on a scale I had never before attempted. We were going to scale not one but two mountains on this day, first starting with an ascent up the rocky slopes of Mount Ngauruhoe - known in another time as Orodruin, or Mount Doom. I would soon find out just how fitting a name this last one could be.

After conquering this first task, which was by no means simple, we were then to make our escape from the rugged landscape by trekking across the saddle ridge connecting Ngauruhoe to a neighbouring mountain, named Tongariro. This passage would take us past volcanic craters and sulfurous pools, before finally winding through tussocky hills and the bush before leading to safety on the far side.

Sarah and I made the journey to the lakeside on the previous day, she on her fast mount called “Toyota” and I on my "Mitsubishi". Together we navigated the twisting roads that wound through New Zealand’s dark foothills.

We came upon three of our companions in the township of Bulls as we made our way. Giving Toyota and Mitsubishi a drink and hitching them up outside of a Turkish inn, we stepped inside. On our way in, we passed a sign suggesting that we be ‘Responsi-Bull’ and dispose of our rubbish properly. Clearly, this was a town with a sense of humour, something much-needed in surviving these rugged environs. This was a town I came to like quickly.

Within, we found our friends already seated by the hearth, trying to banish the autumnal chill from their bones. There sat brave Iain, slayer of many a fierce tramp in his time, including the devilish Kilimanjaro. Next to him sat Al – a fellow conqueror of Kilimanjaro – himself a proud and accomplished tramper if ever there was one. Yet he would not be joining us for the last part of our quest, as Al was still nursing a serious injury sustained in a prior journey. Still, his presence served to give us all a sense of hope and his devotion to the Fellowship was beyond question. On my right stood Glen, who like myself was a new addition to this courageous band. New though he was to us, Glen was no stranger to the ways of the outdoors, being a veteran of some of the most daring mountain quests the world had to offer.

Sarah and I took our seats at their table and shared a feast of lamb and potato, washing it all down with a helping of ale. We could not tarry for long, as we still had many miles to go before we reached base camp on the shores of Lake Taupo. Saying our farewells, we all mounted up and resumed our journey.

Many hours later, under a brilliant night sky whose stars were left to shine even brighter in the presence of a new moon, we reached our destination.

As we unpacked our mounts, we were greeted by Chris, whose father was providing us with our much-needed shelter for the weekend endeavour. Although the youngest of the group, Chris was no less game than the rest of us for adventure, and it would be upon the wisdom of experiences such as his that the rest of us would rely in order to make sure we survived our test on the morrow.

Chris’ companion, Ursh, was also already at camp and she had thoughtfully secured provender for our pending assault on the mountains. Inside, the larder was fully stocked with varieties of fish, meat, cheese and vegetables – and more than a few tankard-fulls of ale – to help sustain us in our quest.

Rounding out our Fellowship was Simon, who had come from lands far to the north to join us here on the eve of our quest. He is Sarah’s betrothed and is perhaps the most keen and confident member of the Fellowship. Absent from his vocabulary are such words as ‘can’t’ and ‘impossible’. His sturdy presence would prove invaluable to me on the journey ahead.

At last, the Fellowship was complete!

That night, we regaled each other with tales from prior conquests in order to help pass the time until it was late enough to retire. One particular story that got a hearty laugh from all was the tale of the ‘Fish Slapping Incident’ in the faraway land of Africa. Al cast a spell with his Tome of Supreme Power and took us all back in time to witness said event. There were two members of his party, both nearly too drunk to remain standing, squaring off against each other on a beach somewhere in Africa. One of them was wielding a large, dead fish; the other unfortunate soul was unarmed yet still he seemed eager. At the behest of an unseen moderator, the fish-wielding rogue suddenly grabbed its tail with both hands and slapped his comrade full on the face with the dead fish! Whether this was enough to knock him to the ground or if he merely fell over due to uncontrollable laughter, it was not clear. We were all so amused by the spectacle that Al kindly wove the spell for us another time.

There was a palpable energy in the air and not a hint of fear. Had I truly known what lay ahead of me the next day, I may actually have been apprehensive. But that would only have hurt my efforts, for I needed to be clear-headed the next day, or I would never survive. The Fellowship would crumble if we did not all play our parts!

Even the realization that I had forgotten to pack my Boots of Sturdy Climbing failed to put a dent in the convivial atmosphere, for I was reassured by the veterans of the Fellowship that the lack of even this excellent artifact would not be enough to slow me down.

I drew first watch that night as we all took to our separate bivouacs, and after I was relieved by the next watchman, I immediately fell asleep in a contented and eager frame of mind.

Such a mood was enhanced superbly by the dawn spectacle of the mist-shrouded Lake Taupo, and I knew that today was going to be nothing short of legendary. Perhaps not for my mates in the Fellowship, for such a quest – respectable tho’ it was – was something well within their grasp but one that remained daunting to me, the most inexperienced tramper of the lot.

It was on this morning that I was also introduced to the mysterious, invigorating energies of Elvish Vanilla Creamed Rice. A thick gruel fashioned more for manly appetites, it is a delicacy I find I will be sure to include in all of my future tramping quests. Inexplicably, the women of the Fellowship found this nourishing substance to be rather repulsive, but I shared the view of my fellow lads in that it was like having dessert for breakfast – but a healthy one!

As we mounted up and rode out to the base of the trail that wound its way to Ngauruhoe’s steep aspect, the Fellowship was a mix of emotions. Initial elation at the lack of any clouds in the sky turned to brief shock and horror at the sight of no snowfall atop either Ngauruhoe or Tongariro. The mountaintops were bald, and this would serve to make the ascent up Ngauruhoe slightly more difficult, if not much less scenic. Nonetheless, the Fellowship remained undaunted in the face of these unusual circumstances.

The faint blue outline of hulking Mount Taranaki hovered ominously on the horizon. For today, it would have to remain a jealous (or haughty) observer of our trek, knowing that it would not have a chance to either humiliate us or be conquered by us – for the now.

Almost as soon as the rest of the Fellowship had strapped on their gear and readied for our dual mountainous assault, I was overcome by my constant desire to record everything I see. Immediately I produced one of the many artifacts I had procured for this quest from within my pack. It was the Canon Hi-Resolution Pictograph of Prowess, and it would scant remain untouched for long when in my possession on this day.

The Fellowship, among other things, was founded upon a deep sense of fraternity. This comradeship would be demonstrated time and again upon this day as in this instance, when my mates just laughed off my penchant for compulsively recording events and allowed me to lag behind at times so that I could portray things for posterity.

“Spot the tourist!” said Ursh, mocking me in a friendly manner.

I wielded the powerful artifact several dozen more times before we were to even reach Ngauruhoe. I have enchanted the best of the images it recorded and made them available for permanent viewing at this location. I warn you, friend, that these are potent enchantments. So a strong and fast connection to the magical ethernet that surrounds us will serve you best here, for the images are great in number and rich in detail.

Impressive though the magical recordings are, they simply cannot do justice to the awe-inspiring spectacle of standing before these mountains in person. Even should you choose not to follow in our footsteps and ascend these massive hills on your own one day, they do warrant a closer look beyond what my paltry images can supply. You may contact me through any means of magical scrying device that you may possess should you wish me to escort you to these epic mountains one day in the future.

But back to my tale. Before we reached the point where the trail forked – the lefthand path leading off to Tongariro Crossing and the eventual way out, the righthand path a sharp ascent up the scraggy slopes of Ngauruhoe – we first had to ascend something called the Devil’s Staircase. It was here that I would have my first true test, my friends. Many times over the previous months had I ascended the steep but short hill behind my home, the so-called Cannon Point. But never had I done so with a pack, nor for over a sustained distance and period of time. So it was upon the aptly-named Devil’s Staircase that I first encountered my own mortal limitations.

I was able to make it to the top of this steep climb on my own, which zig-zagged back and forth in front of and above us. Large, awkwardly-shaped boulders jealously guarded the path, forcing us to negotiate it with exacting difficulty. The rest of the Fellowship tackled this first obstacle with fluid ease, yet other questers in groups separate from our own were also attempting this climb on this day. A few amongst them were also with me in lagging behind periodically, stopping to catch our breath and rest our weary legs. More than once on this day would I take advantage of these breaks to unleash the power of the mighty Canon, and I found it to be a good excuse to take a break here and there. It was also at these times that I benefited heavily from the indispensable Water Bottle of Life and various handfuls of empowering Scroggin and Fruits and Nuts of Nourishing Goodness (In Small Bits).

After finally slaying the Devil and his annoying Staircase, we drew up at the base of Ngauruhoe and plotted our assault. While a few passers-by marveled at our prowess in desiring to not only finish off Ngauruhoe but its brother Tongariro on this day, I grew a bit tense about my own ability to handle this feat. Some of those who heard of our quest and shrank from the prospect were younger and fitter than I, and the last thing I wanted to do was prevent the rest of the Fellowship from completing its quest. After voicing my concerns, I was quickly reassured by the rest of the group that I could, in fact, make this climb and still press on to Tongariro afterwards.

Willing in spirit but unsure in body, I proceeded up the slope with the rest of my mates. After advancing about one third of the way up, crab-walking left and right in a maddeningly slow manner, it started to become clear to me that I would not make the summit of Ngauruhoe in my current state.

Not wanting to continue to hold up the rest of the expedition, I volunteered to abandon this trail and wait for them to ascend and return before journeying on to Tongariro. Thankfully, Simon and Iain would have none of it, so Simon offered to carry my pack in order to allow me to better make the ascent.

Not being a prideful sort of person and wanting desperately to climb this mountain, I yielded my pack to Simon and carried on. It took some more encouragement from my mates here and there along the way, and several more stops in order to let my aging frame recuperate, but I finally topped Ngauruhoe.

The final fifty meters of our assault lead us nearly straight up a slippery slope made up of loosely-packed volcanic rock. These jagged fragments were various shades of black and crimson, and had I not been so focused on overcoming my body’s nagging complaints I may have had the chance to enjoy their unique spectacle in greater depth. But they did not even get a taste of the hard-working Canon.

The views from the top of Ngauruhoe’s crater rim far outclassed anything these tiny rocks had to offer in comparison. A smoking vent steamed continuously on another ridge to our left. The yawning crater below us screamed mutely of eruptions long-past. Icicles now dotted the rim of the crater, which bore a large open notch on its northern face where a section of it had fallen away long ago. I could now see for miles and all of us basked in the abundant sunlight. We revelled in our successful completion of this first part of our quest, undoubtedly the most difficult part.

Cliché as it may sound, I had achieved not just a physical summit of this Mount Doom on this day, but also a more personal summit. Overcoming my own mental and physical doubts and being in the presence of such positive and supportive friends proved to be a far more engaging and lasting experience than any such enchanting image that I might capture. This I would take and keep with me always. Though I did not have an enchanted ring of infernal power to toss into the crater, such as those famous young Hobbits had done in this very spot eons ago, I was able to toss a rather large and heavy monkey off of my back and into the pit below. In a manner of speaking, of course, as I could never do such a thing to a real monkey!

The descent back down Ngauruhoe’s face was a treacherous one, often being nothing more than a controlled slide on one’s backside. By the time I reached bottom, I had mastered two new techniques – the Double-Runner Foot Slalom and the Hands-Down Arse Slide – each with varying degrees of success. While I continued to improve as I made my descent, I fear that not once did I look very graceful. I fancied I rather looked like an undead, as if I were some zombie that had crawled out of the crater at the top and come a-shambling down the mountainside. My legs certainly felt as if they were two dead wooden posts – and just as flexible.

The ascent of Ngauruhoe would claim one of our Fellowship, however, as Ursh had sustained many blisters and could not continue. Though she could easily have handled all that Tongariro had to offer, it was a long slog and one she had conquered on many a previous occasion. Since there was no practical reason for Ursh to sally forth and with the largest obstacle in the Fellowship’s path already overcome, she retreated to the main camp. Keen as he was to continue, her partner Chris wisely chose to retire with her, as he too had already mastered these mountains, among many others. If nothing else, they would be able to form an admirable rearguard with Al, who was already remaining behind and bravely protecting the Fellowship’s camp while nursing an injury of his own.

After cresting Tongariro and viewing its alien landscape, we were assaulted by sulfurous odours, which added a new dimension to our quest. Far from overpowering, the stench was enough to remind us that we were truly in God’s country at this point, and that to tarry too long this far from comfortable elements would certainly make even the hardiest of us perish.

Although the clouds began to stubbornlly roll in as soon as we had made Tongariro’s zenith, we were at least not robbed of some stunning views of the turquoise volcanic lakes dotting the landscape. In fact, the clouds steaming past and surrounding us served to add a spooky, other-worldly dimension to this already unique vista.

Not long after climbing the rim of Tongariro did Iain begin his own personal assault on the mountain. He would now run the rest of the way of the quest – of which there remained four-plus hours of hiking to tackle. Although buffeted by my own newfound success on the day, I could not yet hope to achieve the level of fitness currently displayed by the other members of the Fellowship. Perhaps with sustained hard work I could one day also run a part of this trek, but for now my goal remained to do it a second time without having to yield my pack. As the oldest member of our Fellowship, I could easily rest on this as an excuse for my struggles. But instead of choosing to dwell on such a negative perspective, I chose to instead acknowledge the fact that I had still climbed both mountains on my own and also without having ever done anything this difficult, even when I was a younger and healthier adventurer.

Before we could gain the other side of the bush and ultimately the field where our mounts had been secured by Al to await our return, we first had to negotiate the winding track under cover of darkness. Whereas the absence of the moon in the night sky helped to afford excellent views of the Milky Way the previous evening, it now served to make the last leg of the journey all the more treacherous. Fortunately we had included yet another kind of necessary artifact for our quest, some Headlamps of Righteous Illumination. Equipping them thusly to our foreheads, we followed their generous beams of soft emerald light through all of the twists and turns of the encroaching vegetation. Dangerous roots and sudden changes in elevation were not a concern as we made our way through the bush in veteran tramper style.

So as we strolled down the other side of Tongariro and I beheld large rays of sunlight shafting through the clouds and illuminating the valleys below us, I took heart in this fitting sight. In the foreground, another volcanic vent steamed moodily from within the hill to our left. Yet it paled in size and impact when viewed against the awesome landscape below and before us. It served as a fitting metaphor for my experiences with the Fellowship that day: my own personal doubts and inexperience were left fuming in the background amidst a fresh new landscape of possibility and achievement.

One day a new Fellowship will form, and I will be there to partake in yet another quest. My time here in this magical land Down Under has now truly begun to be spent in earnest. I, as your humble explorer, cannot wait to see what is around the next bend and atop the next hill.

Easily amused

2007-05-17T17:40:00.000+12:00

Right, well, not to crack wise on the New Zealanders, but they do have a couple of things that I've come across that initially made me snicker. I think they'd make you laugh a bit, too, so I'm going to share those things with you here and see what you think. It's all in good fun, as you know I love this new home I've made for myself Down Under in Wellington! But there's nothing like "taking the piss" every now and then.

I'm sure the Kiwis would think some of our own company names and phrases odd. For example, they find it humorous that I refer to cookies as such, as over here only little kids call cookies 'cookies'. Adults call them 'biscuits', which to me means something buttery and doughy as opposed to something sweet, crisp and peanut butter or chocolate chip flavored. Notice how I'm also not spelling words in this post with u's, either, like 'flavour' or 'humour'. That is a habit I'm still learning to pick up, but given the nature of this post I think I'll stick with my Americanized vocab for the now!

Check this one out:

Ahem. "Throaties"?! Sounds a bit... dirty, doesn't it? Excuse me, did I just stroll down the "XXX" aisle of the supermarket, or am I the only one who sees the comedy in this?

I can just imagine a conversation in the average Kiwi household now:

Mrs. Kiwi: "Darling, I'm feeling a bit of a cough coming on. Can you pop round to the dairy and get me some Throaties?"

Mr. Kiwi: "Oh I'll give ya a throaty all right..."

Mrs. Kiwi: "Pardon?"

Mr. Kiwi: "Nothing, dear. I'm on to it."

Maybe I'm still stuck in an eighth-grade mentality, but I couldn't help but smirk the first time I saw these on the shelf.

The only other one I've got a picture of right now is this one:

Um, you guys do know what a sanitarium is, right? Might not want to choose that as the name of your company, then, if'n you're selling milk and whatnot. I mean, don't get me wrong: we need sanitariums to get people better. It's just that, well, naming food after a place where people are sick and need lots of rest and medical care to get better... You see what I'm sayin'? Not very appetizing.

Soylent Green, anyone? I think you get my point!

I am, of course, just teasing. I am certain that there are several American company names/food items that would raise the eyebrows of more than a few Kiwis (not to mention some of our overly-indulgent portion sizes). So I'll end this post on a good note, although all I'm really doing here is praising McDonald's rather than the Kiwis. But they get props indirectly, at least.

This

is the New Zealand version of our very own Big Mac. Imaginatively called the "Kiwiburger" it is not quite what we know as the Big Mac, but rather is a big cheeseburger with a fried egg and a slice of beetroot on it. For those whose gag reflexes are still intact - I'm with you. I love this burger! It reminds me of a 'Cheese Western', a terribly unhealthy burger from my hometown of Lynchburg that features a greasy cheeseburger topped with sweet relish and a fried egg. It is a direct frontal assault on all of your coronary arteries, and damn does it taste good.

Well this sandwich might be tasty, but my point is how cool I think it is that Mickey D's has created a Kiwi version of the "Big Mac Song" for the New Zealanders, and I'm not sure if you can make out the words in the picture but it goes on about all things unique to the country. I choose not to take the cynical view and see it as a clever grab at Kiwi loyalty by stirring their national pride over an ultimately American creation.

Rather, I see it as a great blending of two very cool cultures and I'm all about staying true to the locals, as for instance they use all New Zealand ingredients in this burger.

I've limited myself to just one of these, as I think that probably ought to be at least a monthly quota if not a quarterly one, these burgers are so loaded. But the Kiwiburger is very tasty and at least it doesn't have a smirk-inducing name like the above two products mentioned in this post!

Spot The Brooksie

2007-05-12T08:51:00.000+12:00

OK.

Last week I experienced something that was cruelly embarrassing, something from which I am still recovering. Thankfully, the degree to which I have been afflicted is nowhere near as bad as it was say, oh, about five days ago. Also thankfully, the worst of this occurred over the weekend and I happened to be off, so I needn't have gone out into public but could rather hide my face in shame in the house.

But, of course, I went out anyways.

So let's see if you can pick me out of the line-up below (I sincerely hope you can, by the way) and can then decipher what, exactly, I am going on about.

Here we have Exhibit A, and there's a small clue in this very first photograph:

Can you guess yet what might have been going on?

No? Then try this one on for size:

Rather a handsome fella, ain't he? Yecch. In case you still don't have any idea what is going on, and NO that wasn't me in that photo, here's your final hint:

Whoa! Yeah, I had the 'trout pout' in full effect all right. Sigh. It really was no picnic, let me tell you. Especially when I stopped by work to pick up some of my antihistamines (why I left them there, I'll never know) and who - of all people - should be there but Andrew, one of the other vets. He's very much like my good friend Todd back home, in that he delights in winding me up and making me the victim of many a joke. He's quite good at it, too, so he certainly didn't need the help of my 'collagen' look to give him any more ammunition than he needs.

"We should get a picture of this!" he suggested, grinning.

This all started about a week ago, when I noticed that my lips had taken on a rather... corrugated appearance. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, because they had never looked like that before, but then again nothing hurt and for sure they weren't swollen up like a pair of ruby-red slugs yet, either.

But when I woke up Saturday morning, something wasn't right. Had I been grinding my teeth in my sleep again? Did a malicious bee land on my lips in the night and attempt to sting me to death? Did I get punched in the mouth so hard that I blacked out, only to awaken and look like the poster child for Why Collagen Is Bad For You? As I sat up in bed and beheld myself in the mirror - which is across the room - I could tell even from that distance, with bleary Morning Vision no less, that I had a Category Five embarrassing problem on my hands.

I didn't have a clue why this could be happening, until I texted my friend Sarah, who suggested it might be my lip balm. I've been using this store brand stuff, and after I read her text I went and picked up the tube of stuff I've been using. Lo and behold, there were no less than four chemicals in my cheap version of chapstick, all of them with long and vaguely unsettling names like "0-3`1`-mehtoxy-butaflammy-dehydrato-alcohol" and "tri-disphospho-carcino-butyrate" and so on.

Well, those can't be good for me.

And here I had planned to go into town today, to do my usual routine. Hah! No way in Hell was I going anywhere out in public. Not with these fishy lips, no sirree.

The kicker was that, until Sarah had texted me, I had already been up a few hours and in a panic I had been slathering on the very lip balm that got me into this private hell in the first place! But once she made the suggestion, it all made perfect sense. I had always used a brand of Chapstick back home that had no chemicals or preservatives in it of any kind, just natural stuff. It worked great, too.

So now I had to get to work to get my antihistamines, and thus the comical scene with Andrew. Don't get me wrong - if anybody knows how to laugh at themselves, it's me. Look at what I'm doing with this post here, for crying out loud! So when Andrew and Claire had a laugh at my expense at work, I was able to laugh right along with them. It helped to ease the tension, even though I was a bit dismayed by the fact that they knew right away something was odd about me as soon as I walked through the front door. No chance of being stealthy while looking like a cruelly-morphed CGI version of myself! God, I looked like I was one of the sea creatures in Disney's The Little Mermaid or something.

Anyways, after I got home and popped some pills (and broke out an ice pack), Sarah texted me back and eventually coaxed me into going out that night. Not to a club or anything - that would have been suicidal! She suggested a movie, since 'in the dark nobody can see your trout pout'.

Haha, good one, Sarah. Haha.

Nah, she's a great friend, and I did go out and see Spider-Man 3 with her, and as far as I could tell nobody seemed to notice that my lips looked as if they had been inflated to 30 PSI. The antihistamines had started to work, much to my relief, and the remaining cheap-ass lip balm had long since been binned with all due haste.

Let that be a lesson to all you cheap lip balm users out there, then. Avoid like the plague any of the ones that have any chemicals in them! Use only the natural stuff!

Unless, of course, you are looking for a way to make your lips fuller without spending money on collagen injections. I think I can fish that last tube out of the rubbish for you, if you like.

Haha, get it? Fish it out?

I slay me.

The Deluxe Cafe Review (it's in there somewhere, I promise)

2007-05-09T18:51:00.000+12:00

Oh no.

I’m playing that game again.

You know, that low-intensity game of chicken you involuntarily play with other people any time you step out amongst pedestrian traffic on a crowded street. It’s a game I play with regularity here in downtown Wellington. Hell, it could be a new Olympic sport, if’n they had an Olympics for banal, non-athletic phenomena such as this game, which has been referred to elsewhere as the ‘Indecisijig’.

I believe that term was first coined by Rich Hall back in the early 80s as one of his many hilarious “sniglets”, or words for things that up until then had no, well, words for what they meant. I forget the exact definition for indecisijig (which, when broken down into its components, combines the words ‘indecision’ and ‘jig’ - neat, huh?) but it describes the scenario where you are walking somewhere and you come across someone walking towards you and they are on the same ‘line’ that you are. In a mutual attempt to give the right of way and/or to try and go around the oncoming fellow walker, you each try and guess which way to go and start to commit to a direction. If you both guess exactly wrong, it leads to a series of aborted side-steps, with your resultant jumpy moves forming into an awkward little dance number. This mutual fake-out results in the wonderful spectacle that is the involuntary maneuver called the 'indecisijig'.

Nobody ever wants to start the indecisijig on their own. If this was consciously attempted, it could no longer be a proper indecisijig by definition; rather, it would be more of a Robot Dance or perhaps even the White Man's Overbite (q.v. When Harry Met Sally). You can try and anticipate the other person's choice of direction, based upon several factors, such as their current trajectory, the look on their face, and whether or not they’re even paying attention to you. The easiest people to predict, in fact, are the ones who seem blithely unaware of the people around them – they don't seem to even notice that there's anyone else on the sidewalk – and so they remain obstinately committed to their chosen path. For them, you just pick right or left and carry on.

It’s when you are headed toward someone who is also aware of them heading towards you that the magic begins. The shuffling starts and inevitably you end up stepping closer to each other in a zig-zag. This heightens the anxiety and one of two things then happens. You can both panic and keep repeating your ill-fated dance until you get right up on each other. Then, both mortally embarrassed at this bilateral invasion of personal space - combined with a failure to successfully and gracefully avoid collision - you both mumble apologies as you awkwardly and painfully twist out of each other’s way like two cars heading opposite ways on a very narrow street, all the while hoping against hope that you don’t inadvertently – gasp! – touch each other.

Or the other thing can happen, and this is usually what I try and do. That is, I stop dead in my tracks, smile and hold out my hands to either side. I’m indicating to the other person, ‘It’s OK, no need to panic. I see what's happening here and I know how this always ends, so now we can stop this absurd little dance.’

For it is absurd, and the embarrassment is heightened by the prospect of putting on this impromptu and never-before-rehearsed little scene for the amusement of the other passers-by, whose own paths are mercifully free of any impending collisions.*

But this indecisijig I’m currently caught up in is happening right in the middle of the crosswalk on Kent Terrace. There are heaps of people going either way and it’s mid-day traffic here in Wellington. The Little Green Walking Man in the crosswalk sign has disappeared, having been swatted away by his nemesis, the ominous Flashing Red Hand. There is no room to either side of me or the girl on the other end of this indecisijig and time is running out on our safe haven here in the middle of the busy asphalt. Cars just off to my left are gunning their engines in anticipation of the light changing in their favor. How they just love to blast off and try to go from zero to sixty in less than two seconds as they hurtle up Kent Terrace, pedestrians be damned.

She jigs to her left, I to my right: Strike one! And so the dance has begun. In time with the perfect rhythm of the indecisijig, we both panic and hop the other way, once again occluding each other's paths. We are now a mere six feet from each other. To either side of us is an impenetrable stream of people. We are the only two caught in this comical struggle to simultaneously yield and obtain right-of-way. Tensions mount.

Damn. We both panic and take that fateful third step, a repeat of the first: me to the right and she to her left, and now we’re nearly upon each other. I wouldn’t mind bumping into her, for she is a young and attractive woman (and no, I wouldn't grope her or anything, you pervs), but she does not seem to share my indifference to our pending close encounter. This potentially intimate rendition of the indecisijig has her face frozen in a study of shy panic, her eyes cast downward and flicking left and right.

Finally, I resolve the crisis by making a small sacrifice. Sure, I’m not even halfway across the street yet and the Flashing Red Hand has been blinking more and more furiously since I first stepped onto the zebra stripes. All it has to do is turn its frozen red glare solid and then the anxious cars to my left will be unleashed upon us all, crosswalk or no.

I stop in my tracks and spread my hands out to the sides, smiling at her. She bounces back once more to her right, then suddenly notices the daylight around me on that side as I have stopped. Without bothering to nod or smile or acknowledge in any way my signal that our dance has ended (my indecisijig partners frequently fail to give me any props for yielding, but that’s OK since neither of us asked for a dance anyways), she shoots on by me to the left. My way is now also clear, except that she’s nearer to her kerb than I am to mine, and my time is up: the evil Red Hand is now no longer Flashing but instead blazing down at me with a baleful, crimson glare. I can hear gearshifts being manipulated off to my left. The neon light in the window of my destination, the Deluxe Café, beckons promisingly yet distressingly far away up ahead and to my right.

As fast as these cars may be able to accelerate, they still have nothing on my ability to perform the indecisijig and still make a clean getaway. With a sly smile I take two quick and long strides... and I am there. Safe on the opposite kerb, the only harm that's been done has been to my ears as an obnoxious boy racer (an oxymoron if ever there was one) speeds by behind me with one of those mufflers that makes his car sound constipated at very loud volumes.

"HhhHhhnnnnnNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNnnnnnnn...." his car complains as it speeds away. Dork.

I’m now safely in the queue for Deluxe, now just a little more practised than I was before at the Indecisijig. If I keep it up, I just may be able to take this act on the road (heh). You know, if they don’t ever come up with a ‘Pedestrian Olympics’, perhaps I can finagle my way onto one of those ‘Dancing with the Stars’ shows, if not as a contestant then at least as a guest choreographer.

I can see it now: “Tonight on Dancing With The Stars, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special competition planned for you! You will see the contestants square off not in the style of ballroom or salsa or even break dancing, but something new and fresh and vibrant! We’ve flown in a Special Master all the way from New Zealand and for the past fortnight he’s been involved in intensive instruction with all of our dancers! They’ve all frequently complained and even threatened to walk off the set, but they’re under contract so they’re screwed no matter what! Straight from the streets of Wellington, we bring you the latest and coolest trend in urban dance - the Indecisijig!”

Then, cue the crowds of people strolling by on set, the sounds of car engines gunning in the background, the Flashing Red Hand, and our first pair of competitors as they stroll inexorably towards each other from opposite ends of the stage...

These are the thoughts running through my head as I sip on my third mochaccino of the day, this time in Deluxe Cafe. It’s the best mocha by far, as from what I’ve found nobody else in town makes one as good as Deluxe does (especially by this really cute girl there) – and that ain’t an easy task, for all of the coffees I’ve had in Wellington have been nothing short of very good.

Deluxe’s food is exceptional as well, for they feature not only an eclectic variety of things (muffins with olives, tomatoes, feta and corn; tasty filos; great pizzas that are very much Chicago-style; all kinds of baked goods like cupcakes with raspberry icing, Anzac biscuits, cheesecakes; wraps with fish and rice and avocado; all kinds of paninis, etc.) but it’s always flavorful and you can tell they use the best quality ingredients. Even better: they have the best food prices of any café in town.

It doesn’t hurt that they’re right next door to the Embassy Theater, either, which not only has the biggest and best movie screen and sound system in town but also the best theater seats. On more than one occasion I've stopped off at Deluxe to kill some time before then catching a matinée at the Embassy.

I think my favorite thing about Deluxe by far, though, is its people. The crew they’ve got working there is always cool and laid-back and friendly. They have a habit of cutting out a picture from that day’s newspaper and taping it to the top of their tip cup. It’s always an inspired selection and it never fails to crack me up. They’ll usually have somebody’s face cut out and will have drawn in a word balloon and supplied their own text. I remember seeing Dubya's face taped to the top of the cup once, as well as Winston Peters' mug (he's New Zealand's Foreign Minister). There was even once a picture of the current Dalai Lama, and they had him saying something implying that you would achieve infinite wisdom simply by putting a little money in the cup. (No comment on whether or not I contributed on that day.)

Deluxe is also the place that introduced me to the Foxton Fizz, and they also display local art for sale on their walls, so I’m all about supporting anything native to New Zealand. So, as with the Lido Café and their support of the Phoenix line of drinks, Deluxe gets mad props and extra visits from me because of the way they’re keepin’ it real for the Kiwis.

Something else unique to Deluxe that I’ve not encountered quite to this degree anywhere else in Wellington is the broad range of people that choose to patronize it. It reminds me of a place back in the States in Tacoma, called Frisko Freeze, where I’ve been told that even though it’s in a seedy part of town it is widely and unofficially recognized as neutral turf. You can have people of all races, ideologies, and socioeconomic class levels – some of whom, were they not outside standing in line for a Frisko Freeze burger, would be nowhere near each other – queuing up for long lines without conflict. All for a burger. I've read on-line reviews by people who have orchestrated layovers of their flights to be in Tacoma and for long enough for them to nip out for a couple of their unique burgers, they're so good. Clearly, I need to visit this place one day.

Deluxe is quite like Frisko Freeze then in that I’ve seen a wider variety of people dropping by here for a cup of joe than I have at any other coffee joint in town. You've got students, suits, tradesmen and women, retirees, bicyclists, nerdy American bloggers, people on dates, and would probably even have some of the policy wonks from the Beehive (New Zealand's Parliament building) were it not clear on the other side of town from Deluxe.

The guys from the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra even frequent Deluxe as well, playing there Thursday mornings once in a while.

Hmm, the Ukulele Orchestra. Maybe that’s who I’ll book to come with me for when I head to that Dancing With The Stars competition...

---------------------------------------------------------------

*As an aside, I wonder: Is this what it’s like to be an asteroid? You (the asteroid in question) are hurtling along at monumental speeds, when suddenly you see another planetary fragment zipping right towards you. You then have to do a last-minute shuffle to avoid smashing into each other and sending off a potentially disastrous bit of asteroid shrapnel, which invariably will head towards hapless planet Earth, thus spawning the creation of movies starring Bruce Willis as a commercial drill operator, shepherding a team of elite professional oil drilling cosmonauts into space to save humanity. Including Ben Affleck, no less.

No, of course it doesn’t happen with asteroids. They’re all spinning in the same direction! Duh.